Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death. – Anais Nin

Thank you Anais for your wise words.

What are we doing but trying to be-come? Become some THING some ONE somehow transforming the inner image into the outer (or vice versa, I suppose). I know my image of myself is not what others see — it never has been. Occasionally that is a good thing, frequently it is annoying.

But what my love sees when he looks at me is not what I see in the mirror. It is painful and joyous all at once.

Yet, this life, this existence, this presence I carry through my life is an ongoing process of becoming. As it is for all of us. Some of my students get it. Most don’t. No shame on them, nor glory. It just is.

Haven’t you ever had a friend who you loved dearly but who never managed to ‘get it’? A while ago (perhaps I am dating myself here) the media called it ‘tough love’ when you just let that person go to hell on their own merits. I don’t have a different phrase, but I don’t think love enters into it. Not without a lot of philosophical wrangling and a good dictionary.

I can be a terrible friend. I’m a poor correspondant and although I will be there when asked, I don’t offer to be there very often. Most peopel probably take that as a signal of a lack of caring, but its not. I just don’t want to ‘butt in.’ I have a tendancy to over-manage and to take on too much, and my not offering is my attempt to curb that… enthusiasm. It is protective of me, not dismissive of the other. I’ll admit I’m self-centered (reason #7 why I don’t have children, I can barely manage to keep cats alive) and I’m better at serving a large amorphous unseen community than I am a small circle of intimates. I do, however, care deeply about my friends. All of them, even the ones who are no longer a presence in my life.

I’m introverted, and horribly shy. Getting up to speak in front of an audience is hellish. Leading physical ritual is barely any better. I have the curse of the need to be perfect at what I am doing when in ‘public’ — and public here is defined as ‘in the presence of another human.’ Being with others, even the ones I love, is draining on me.

All of this was unknown to me a decade ago. Even five years ago I was only becoming aware of the reality. I still don’t manage it very well, but awareness has prompted understanding and that will lead to strategies I can use to improve. . . to move to the next stage of becoming.

Of course my next question is: Be-come what?

From the email I sent to the TBPReaders list:

Dear Friends and Colleagues, I woke up this morning and reflected on Friday the 13th – a day of lore and superstition. I am not prone to numerology, but even I know that 13 is a magical number, for so many reasons.

(If you are interested at the beginning of this portion of the tale, please see my blog entry on August 23rd)

One of the fundamental rules of life is this: The wife always wins. This is not a bad thing, and I’m a wife myself so I support this rule wholeheartedly . Its reality, and a good way to go through life. (OK, the spouse always wins, is that better?) I am not referring to some dramatic moment of tension within a couple’s history, but the fact that each couple must choose to stand together, rather than allow others to come between them.

And if that means that your partner doesn’t like one of your friends (or used to, but no longer does) then: the wife wins. And you no longer have that friend. A wife/spouse/partner is a person to be celebrated and cherished and the one with whom you must stick — for better or worse, through wealth and famine, in sickness and in health. That is a sacred vow and a sacred obligation

My friend’s spouse remains to angry with me to communicate, and that breach will (from this vantage point) never be healed. My friend has always done her best to be honest with me, and has worked as hard as she could to heal the gaping wound that appeared. No fingers need point, there is no more to be done. The wife always wins. 

The patient died on the table. We did our best, but there were no signs of life, and so we pulled the plug. We did so in sorrow, but also with honesty and a sense of necessity. This is the season of endings and our farewell has the feeling of rightness that accompanies correct action.

Blessed be.

It went perfectly. No, I’m serious. There simply could not have been a better way that the situation went.

I spoke with my boss, the owner of the company, the next morning. I’d thought about what I was going to say (of course) but didn’t try to script it, because that doesn’t work for me. I just made sure I had the highlights in my mind.

His response: “Before I say anything else, let me say this: I am MORTIFIED that your religious beliefs are a topic of discussion in this office. That is unprofessional. It is wrong.”

See? The absolutely correct answer, right off the bat. I never once, then, or later in the hour-long discussion that ensued, EVER said what my beliefs are. Which, in retrospect, was a perfect way to bring it up. Think about this: WHAT you believe is not, and never will be, an issue. Religious beliefs are protected.

It would probably be more difficult to have this conversation if you were asking for an exception but you won’t reveal your beliefs, and therefore the support for you request. But I’d never brought up my beliefs in teh office — NEVER. I don’t wear particular jewelry. (Although I do have a special ring I frequently wear, it is usually taken for a flower curved around a blue stone, not as the Goddess image that it actually is). I don’t dress in any stereotypical fashion. There is NOTHING whatsoever to idenify me as a witch outside of my private life… and here, on the Internet of course.

My boss also never once blundered by asking me what my beliefs are. He too realized that they are irrelevant, as long as I didn’t proselytize them. He made a point of telling me that as far as he’s concerned, any public conversation about private matters was inappropriate. Sexuality, political beliefs, and religion were all one and the same: taboo topics and not for office discussion.

I was relieved. And reminded of how fortunate I am to have found this haven for a person like me.

Because, of course, this is not the case for many of us who are outed in the work place. I firmly believe that those of us who practice discretion in the workplace will fare better than those (mercifully few) who flaunt their … diversity. Ok, lets be straightforward: their DIFFERENCE. Yes, its annoying when you work in an environment that supports the mainstream and you are safer if you are quiet. Its worse when you are so quiet that everyone assumes you are like them too — so you should join in and participate in whatever they are doing. I’ve heard numerous stories of Pagans being asked to Bible study groups because ‘everyone else in your team is there’ or working for small family owned companies where they are excluded from many important (career-building) events because they don’t fit in.

Fair? no. Legally permissable? much of it, yes.

I didn’t want a fight to happen on my behalf. I took the correct steps, I informed my manager of indirect harrassment, and he and I have agreed to a course of action that includes my asking for different, or further, actions be taken. I was treated with respect.

Perfect.

It has finally happened — I’ve been ‘secretly’ outed at my workplace. It’s not like anyone has asked me about my beliefs, but someone finally did a Google search and found my so-called alternate life.

I found out by accident — a comment overheard, a whisper misdirected, and I can put 2 and 2 together to get the right answer: I’m being whispered about. Worse, my ability to function as a person is being criticized — not because I’m doing a bad job, but because I am a witch.

Fundamentally, witches and Christians have a wildly different view of the universe. In one, God is all-powerful and singular. In the other, there are many ways the Divine expresses itself. That, from my POV is the beginning and the end of the discussion.

The Christian’s ’10 Commandments’ are a worthy collection of rules to live by:

Text of the commandments

The following is the text of the commonly accepted (by Christian and Jewish authorities) commandments as found in the book of Exodus 20:1-17, New Revised Standard Version. Because Jewish, Protestant, Orthodox, and Catholic traditions divide the commandments in different fashions, they are presented as verses below, without itemization.

(1) Then God spoke all these words: (2) I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery; (3) you shall have no other gods before me. (4) You shall not make for yourself an idol, whether in the form of anything that is in heaven above, or that is on the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. (5) You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I the Lord your God am a jealous God, punishing children for the iniquity of parents, to the third and the fourth generation of those who reject me, (6) but showing steadfast love to the thousandth generation of those who love me and keep my commandments. (7) You shall not make wrongful use of the name of the Lord your God, for the Lord will not acquit anyone who misuses his name. (8) Remember the sabbath day, and keep it holy. (9) Six days you shall labor and do all your work. (10) But the seventh day is a sabbath to the Lord your God; you shall not do any work—you, your son or your daughter, your male or female slave, your livestock, or the alien resident in your towns. (11) For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but rested the seventh day; therefore the Lord blessed the sabbath day and consecrated it. (12) Honor your father and your mother, so that your days may be long in the land that the Lord your God is giving you. (13) You shall not murder. (14) You shall not commit adultery. (15) You shall not steal. (16) You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. (17) You shall not covet your neighbor’s house; you shall not covet your neighbor’s wife, or male or female slave, or ox, or donkey, or anything that belongs to your neighbor.

Exodus 20:1-17  (from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ten_Commandments)

Certainly far easier than the rules according to Leviticus.

My own code of ethics is simpler, but stricter: Harm none. I’m not about to get into a debate about meat-eating, but living a life where I do my best, my utmost at all times to harm none is stringent.

Like the Christians, I don’t lie, cheat, steal, kill, commit adultery, or covet (because that harms ME). I honor my parents. I try to take time, regularly, to worship the Divine.

But, somehow, because I do not believe in a single, male, God I am a bad person. That hurts. It hurts that people are making jokes about ‘don’t cross the witch, she’ll turn you into a toad’ and insinuating that clients will not contract our services because there is a witch workign in thsi company. Never mind that I don’t appear anywhere on our website or in our marketing materials. Nor that I have never, not once, told any single person in this company that I have religious beliefs at all.

And yes, when people have had hard times I’ve asked them if I may pray for them. And when they said yes, I did pray. I prayed for the best outcome, for the return of health to them or their loved ones. Of course I pray: its directed energy towards a specific outcome, asking for the intervention of the Divine. No, I never did a spell — that would be harmful, even if they never found out.

So, now I wonder: who will be the first to tell my boss, the owner of the company? Who will try to harm *me* all because of a label, a difference of attitude, a disagreement over a specific point of view?

Etymology: Middle English frend, from Old English frEond; akin to Old High German friunt friend, Old English frEon to love, frEo free
1 a : one attached to another by affection or esteem b : Acquaintance
2 a : one that is not hostile b : one that is of the same nation, party, or group
3 : one that favors or promotes something (as a charity)
4 : a favored companion

~ from m-w.com

I’ve been musing on the concept of friends and (of course) friendship lately. I’m not one to have a large circle of people I call friends. I have more now than ever before, but I would still have trouble filling the table with 16 people at my annual Feast – and some of them would be new acquaintances.

What makes a friend? To some degree, it’s a person who I can talk to. Likely, when we’re getting to know each other, we can talk for hours. Whether chatting online or sharing a beverage in person, we talk. Agreement is not necessary (although we can’t disagree about everything, that becomes tedious). Having different backgrounds can be exciting. A different set of experiences is vital (otherwise, it’s not a conversation, just a series of yes statements.)

A friend has something more, something almost intangible. Perhaps it’s the refreshing honesty of knowing that there is a person who will tell you when you are wrong, not being spiteful about it, just matter of fact. Moreover, it’s a person who is willing to go with you to make amends, and help you figure out how to not repeat the mistake. A friend can be the revealing mirror that encourages our betterment. They aren’t like family (with their occasionally overly irritating ability to remember details you hoped were long forgotten), nor are they therapists.

I am watching a close friendship of several years reach its conclusion. The end began somewhere around 18 months ago and I don’t know what or how… the post-mortem has not yet begun. Nevertheless, the patient is on the table and extreme measures are required to resuscitate and revive. My friend has been through extraordinary changes in this time and when I look back, I see that those changes obscured our increasing distance.

What is doing it in, however, is that it turns out that to continue our friendship I have to maintain a close relationship with the spouse. Not necessarily hard to do as we’ve know each other even longer, but she is so angry with me she can not express it, except through my friend. I’m caught in a weird game of telephone where every interaction I have is copied (or repeated) to the other party and one person speaks for both, but the silent partner holds more power than the other two combined.

edit: I realize (after the post and a few hours) that my being ‘public’ with this is an attempt to break the cycle. Its not the best choice (I could always call them and say “now or never, lets talk this through”), but it is what I am doing at this time and in this place. I’ve written, I’ve responded, I’ve stated my willingness to work it out. I’ve even said that I think it CAN be worked out (which is pretty optimistic given how little I actually know about what’s going on).

edit: And, in this very moment I realize: I’m putting this on the line. If my friendship means something to the others involved, its time for them to put out (to be crude). If you have something to say: say it. Otherwise, shut up and go away. Stop playing games and be an adult. Friendship takes more than one person. I am part of the dynamic, and I could have done better, but our distance is not my fault. And every day that you put off talking to me and with me, that distance grows.

I have no desire to ‘get between’ the two of them. I just wish I could have my friend back. Or be given the courtesy of an honest interaction rather than this game.

Last night John and I celebrated his birthday (which was in May) by going to see Nickel Creek at Marymoor Park. He picked me up from work early because we know from past experience that it can take 3 hours to get from Seattle to Redmond (thats not even 20 miles, folks. Traffic is incredibly awful up here). We were just going to grab a burger before the show, but took a chance and stopped into a ‘steak and seafood’ place called Becks in the main part of Redmond.

They were just about to open at 4pm and we were invited to have our choice of seating. Nice comfy booths, wood tables, linens… this was not just a ‘joint,’ this was a good looking place hiding in a strip mall. Limited menu with a couple of fish specials, and a thoughtful wine list. Better and better. We looked at each other and said, what the hey and ordered. Grilled prawn ‘cocktail’ to start. A perfect appetizer, two large prawns for each of us. Perfectly cooked and just the right amount to wake up the tummy. Salads (green for me, caeser for him) with fresh greens and not too much dressing. Also, no onion or tomato (I know, others like them, but I don’t.) Then… the main course. I had a filet, grilled nicely with asparagus and a ‘potato cake’ of shredded potato mixed with asiago cheese and fried. YUM. John’s strip was perfectly done, and his mashed with basil was delightful.

We left room for dessert, believe it or not. Mostly by taking our time over the meal (almost 2 hours). We shared a slice of strawberry cake — yellow cake with white chocolate frosting, raspberry filling and strawberry filling. Incredibly good. JUST like I always imagine a ‘birthday’ cake would be.

Stuffed and happy, we finished the drive to the park and found our seats. Mid row, 7 rows from the front on the right side. I done good, if I do say so myself. John was in 7th Heaven.

Nickel Creek was incredible. I saw their show three years ago and they were good. Last night, they were gold. Of special note was their cover of Britney Spears’ “Toxic” which I was able to find on the Interet and have linked HERE. Play it loud.

One of my deepest joys (and vilest disappointmetns) lies within singing.

When I was in college I had a friend who was a musician and he had the occasion to hear me singing (as part of a crowd attending a play). While walking home he informed me that I really shouldn’t sing, because I am tone deaf. It was an effective as a gag, and far worse: I felt like opening my mouth was the equivalent of having incredibly bad body odor. Offensive.

So a thing I enjoyed, had l;earned to breath correctly to do, had worked on for fun, became a torture. I no longer sang in the shower, or the car, or even while alone. My voice grew rusty, my breath shallow, and… bad.

I still liked to sing, though. I couldn’t stop forever. I just got used to a scratchy voice, gave up on high notes, and sang just every once in a while (usually along with very loud music so that I really wasn’t heard by anyone). And eventually, I got caught.

By my boyfriend (although he wasn’t more than a friend back then). A former musician with perfect pitch, no less. He stopped by to see if I wanted to go to a movie, he just didn’t call first like he usually does. I was playing my music loud, and didn’t hear the door, so he just came on in. And there I was, singing my heart out to Sinead O’Connor’s “Troy.” (If you don’t know it, find it and listen to it, and the irony of this story will go to new heights for you.)

I almost threw up, the blood rushed to my face so fast. I was mortified and I ran out of that room as fast as I could. I kept waiting for his laughter, or even the sound of him leaving, but… I didn’t hear that. I crept out. He was just sitting in the living room, reading, and when I came in he simply asked if I was alright. I stammered something taht was ehading towards being an apology when he interrupted me. “I’m sorry if I embarrased you singing, but I wanted to hear you better.”

What? You wanted to hear me better?

“You sing great. Not polished, and you could use some exercises, but you have a nice voice. Why, don’t you think so?”

No. (And I told him I was tone deaf, and why.)

“You’re not tone deaf. You can hear the difference between notes just fine. You don’t always match them, but…” (I almost fled the room again, it felt like i was being set up for a joke or something). “Stop, I’m sorry. Look — you sound fine. No you’re not a professional, but you’re not tone deaf. After all the bible said make a joyful noise, not a beautiful one, didn’t it?”

A few days ago a student shared this (and gave his permission to repost here):

Yes, yes, you are right, I suppose, yet I find it a sad thing, a 
 very sad thing indeed to see crows–innocent birds that were content 
 with their all too brief lives a moment before–flying from the 
 trees upon hearing me sing, “The Sound of Music” only to become so 
 nauseous that they cannot fly, and then to see them puking en masse 
 on the ground like a thousand ships loaded to the brims with drunk 
 sailors and sea-sick passengers. Then to see hysterical 
 cows–creatures that would be crows if only they had been born with 
 an “r” in their names–desperately trying to climb those same trees 
 that the crows so recently abandoned…But more than the pity I 
 feel, it’s the laugher that emanates from deep within me when I am 
 trying to sing during the midst of such a scene, that makes it hard 
 to go on. Yet, I must, simply must go on, because the spectacle and 
 the sense of power I feel, just knowing that I caused it all to 
 happen tickles me so that I would not trade a voice such as mine for 
 the sweetest notes the angels ever heard.

Don’t worry, dear Lady. I do sing. I sing all the time, but 
 especially when I’ve had too much coffee. A friend taught me to sing 
 years ago, so I now sing at all times and in all places. The older I 
 get, the less I care about the crows and the cows. They can buy 
 earplugs for all I care, impudent, intolerant creatures that they are.

He captured, eloquently, amusingly, and joyfully why some of us sing.

Over the years I’ve grown more confident in my voice. Oh, I’m not headed for StarSearch or American Idol. I don’t want to do karoke or anything like that. But “Walking in Memphis” sounds sweet in my voice, and although I don’t wail during “Troy” I can do all the rest.

It may not be beautiful, but it is joyful.