I have long been a fan of Cameron's The Artist's Way, and I started off this year reading it dutifully in small snatches of morning time. This morning, due to it and little nudges in daily life, I saw through to something. I am in mourning.

I am mourning the loss of childhood as it relates to me. It is not just MY childhood I'm wrapped up in. In fact, my realization did not come until I moved from thinking I needed support in mourning my own children's childhoods being left behind in the expansion into newer roles, responsibilities and questions. Then, I thought about my own transitions, and questioned how much or little had I really given up my innocence and been willing to see the world in all its diversity, or been willing to move into a more expanded idea of the world.

I'm not stunted. I assuredly have made leaps in logic beyond a child and delved spiritual depths further than many lost adult minds. However, I have also very much clung to childhood as some kind of anchor. A very encrusted, relic of an anchor.

Last year, I had to free myself from volunteer commitments that drained and consistently overextended me. One thing I stepped away from formally, yet felt expected to continue doing because few others would, was watching after any and all children that arrived weekly at my church. I really stopped making an effort teaching two years ago. When I had overt and solid reasoning for resigning control over the children's services, it took more than a year before leaders took any overt action to transition this role. And I still showed up, but that's about all I did. I began to see very quickly that I was angry still. That no one really wanted to create a program to take these children to their own spiritual field. It always felt instead like we'd be happy to leave them out in a field. (Left to their own devices, I'm sure their divinity would still find profound pleasure, but not the point really...).


...running late will readdress later.
 

Entered 1-7-12; minor correction 2-3-12
Deleting email creates an effective meditative state. I just considered the viability of blog readership. My blog entries have purpose. Sometimes I hope and even brag to others that they must stop what they are doing, and go read my input. Most often, I think it becomes more a repository of notes to myself, and I'd actually prefer no one were interested. The space between people is seemingly shrunk by the accessibility to personal details which are willingly placed on the Internet now.

It is as if I have written a collection of anything from the day's errands to my lifelong manifesto in a journal -- then left it sitting out in a public toilet. If you found it there, would you be more or less compelled to read it? It's a bit different from visiting your Great Aunt Shirley, and coming across her diary in a cozy spare bathroom. As long as the author and her guests continue playing Bridge and won't miss your absence, of course you might take the time to skim for interesting highlights.

I'm a fan of Bookcrossing, bookcrossing.com this perspective on who might read my blog gives it a whole new element of excitement. But then, just leaving it in the home bathroom could be more intriguing for that audience?!

Best line from Tin Man (2007)
"You know you really should do something about that BITTER cynicism of yours Cain."

Cain:
"Why? Someones gotta keep your wide eyed optimism in check."

 

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