#70
Yesterday's Nice Thing: Finally getting laundry done and just chilling at home while I did it with Ghin and eventually, Oisin.
Remember the days when looking after the boys was a 24-7 job? It's not anymore, of course. Now, they look after themselves. Well, more or less. I still cook, clean and tend the house for them, and I still hang out with them and make sure they are ok, but that constant making sure they are ok, anticipating and fulfilling their every need, making every decision for them... that's gone.
I have a very different relationship with the boys - with Oisin, he has always been my helper. He was always there for me, especially when Ghin was very small. He'd get things for me, accompany me - he always seemed so much older than the 5.5 year gap he and Ghin had. I expected things of him.
Ghin on the other hand, I see him as much younger than he really is. I know it is because he is my last baby and so, well, I am trying to extract as much from his boyhood as possible, before he transforms into a teenager - which is going to be very soon. With Oisin the transition was much faster, but as a result, paradoxically, Oisin has always stayed young at heart. He plays with children, he has this childlike quality about him. Ghin, on the other hand, forced by the proximity of being with a much older brother, has happily slipped into the role of sidekick and buddy to effortlessly keep up with Oisin and his much older world.
I always say Ghin never had much of a childhood. Where Oisin played with Thomas the Tank engine for hours on end and he watched cartoons and had more wonder about him, Ghin's worldly wisdom was brought on by just seguing straight into Oisin's tweenage world of Xboxes and iPads. Oisin was the icebreaker and Ghin just trod in his wake.
Yet, they are good good boys. When asked, they will do chores without complaining. They are unfailingly polite and filial. They are thoughtful and contemplative. Don't get me wrong, they can be a total pain, but it is the right levels of pain. Anything less would lead me to speculate sociopathic levels of Stepford calm. So, I am deeply, deeply grateful to them, for them, everything about them. People often talk about the drawbacks of having kids, and there are many - but they are the meeting of souls at such deep deep levels that it is impossible to explain the connection which is established - children are an insight into a cosmos which you can never expect.
Last night, just before heading to bed, I was contemplating the last few weeks. This transformation from one type of woman to another has totally caught me off guard. The pain and the utter disintegration of the self cannot be explained at all. The image which came to mind was the molten fire which the pupae must go through in order to become an adult moth or butterfly. All of the insides are turned to soup and every single atom and molecule reordered to become something else. I do not know if the pupae feels any pain, but by god, the pain, both physical and spiritual that writhed in me was something else.
I do not think this is a first world problem at all - it is a transformation at the heart of humanity's cosmos. It is a mystery. And the same way in which the pupae has no idea how this transformation is done, I too had no idea how this was taking place. It was something which didn't so much drive me, but utterly took control of me. It was as if I had been possessed by a creature which I was utterly unfamiliar with and taken to a place, dragged kicking and screaming, but expected to function as if everything was absolutely alright - as if this was the most normal of occurrences. And it is not - it is not a normal occurrence to have your entire being questioned, to the point of being ripped apart and have every single thing done by and to you in your life questioned. It was as if I was being torn apart at the event horizon - every single thing I knew about myself ripped apart and smeared across the vast expanse of the singularity.
No wonder women end up going to see doctors saying that there is something wrong with them. There is nothing wrong with them, of course - it is everything which is wrong. Everything is being reassigned and there is the terrible scream which the body is going through. It is a rite of passage like any other and probably because in the past it was rare - women probably didn't live this long, or probably because it was embarrassing, women couldn't talk about their periods, let alone the menopause, or because it was medicalised, just was we were able to name it it was captured and made into something which had to be medicated, it has never really had its place in our language, culture. And yet, here we are, walking through the process.
Finally, of course, the cult of youth means that with menopause a woman is made to feel that someone she has past her sell by date. It is of course a plan by men - to neutralise, to negate, to diminish a woman's experience - always, always, sadly. I do not know when men will ever be able to fully understand or indeed even be able to regard us as equals - but perhaps this is not the point. We need to stop wishing that someone else will do this for us and do it for ourselves.
A woman going through the menopause is made to feel lonely and useless, instead of this being seen as a victory - she has nourished and nurtured and lived and learnt and been alive. She has survived or thrived in some cases, she has come through so much - she is now welcomed into the sisterhood of the hag. It is a badge of honour - one assigned to her by nature. Just as she was welcomed into womanhood so obviously all those years ago - she has passed from Master to Grand Master. It is not a badge of honour given to men who do not have these markers of blood. Women are given this marker of age - of respect. It is really a time for celebration and support.
A time for putting it out there - that I have arrived. It is a bittersweet recollection of life - a celebration of everything which has gone before and is still yet to come. We step into another phase of our lives. It is sobering also to think that the next step will be death. We are born, we have girlhood, we become women, we are hags and then, after twenty to thirty years, we return to the Earth.
Last night I did a death meditation - I imagined what it would be like if I had only a few more hours to live. I imagined I lay in my bed and would never seen another sunrise and I realised how sad I felt, the sorrow I felt knowing that this would be my last night and tomorrow I would be dead - I would not see the dawn. I also felt very alone. Even though Ghin was beside me reading. But it made me realise how the simplest thing, but also the most glorious thing, the sun rising, I had taken for granted. I had even over the past few days and weeks cursed the coming of the morning. That was wrong. I was wrong. I want to greet every sunrise and not take the next day as done. It is not a trudge to be gotten through - that is what the forces of evil want us to think because they can then use us - instead, each day, each sunrise is a gift - and at that moment I resolved not to squander another one.
Sometimes, you have to take a step back to take that step forward again.
There should be menopause parties. We do not fade away - we burn even more steadily, more warmly, more wisely. We savour each day as it comes - we are entering the best time of our lives. With all this wisdom and all this experience of life, with all this which we have built around us. Invisible palaces of love. For all of these, we give thanks.
Finally, there was this one other thought which occurred to me - which was having nothing to show for it. While I was undergoing the privations of the blood fire, It did torture me to think that I 'hadn't much to show' for my life. This of course is pure maya - illusion. It is like that fairytale where the heroine has three walnuts and doesn't realise they are filled with treasure. My treasures are kept in the walnuts I have been gifted with and I have treasure beyond compare - I have my life.
With all of this, I need to manifest this - moping around like some dejected bum is no longer an option. I have come through the fire and forged my wings and I will wear them in their shimmering, beauteous glory. I shake them out and fill them with the ichor that has been distilled from my tears and blood.
Just watch me fly.
Remember the days when looking after the boys was a 24-7 job? It's not anymore, of course. Now, they look after themselves. Well, more or less. I still cook, clean and tend the house for them, and I still hang out with them and make sure they are ok, but that constant making sure they are ok, anticipating and fulfilling their every need, making every decision for them... that's gone.
I have a very different relationship with the boys - with Oisin, he has always been my helper. He was always there for me, especially when Ghin was very small. He'd get things for me, accompany me - he always seemed so much older than the 5.5 year gap he and Ghin had. I expected things of him.
Ghin on the other hand, I see him as much younger than he really is. I know it is because he is my last baby and so, well, I am trying to extract as much from his boyhood as possible, before he transforms into a teenager - which is going to be very soon. With Oisin the transition was much faster, but as a result, paradoxically, Oisin has always stayed young at heart. He plays with children, he has this childlike quality about him. Ghin, on the other hand, forced by the proximity of being with a much older brother, has happily slipped into the role of sidekick and buddy to effortlessly keep up with Oisin and his much older world.
I always say Ghin never had much of a childhood. Where Oisin played with Thomas the Tank engine for hours on end and he watched cartoons and had more wonder about him, Ghin's worldly wisdom was brought on by just seguing straight into Oisin's tweenage world of Xboxes and iPads. Oisin was the icebreaker and Ghin just trod in his wake.
Yet, they are good good boys. When asked, they will do chores without complaining. They are unfailingly polite and filial. They are thoughtful and contemplative. Don't get me wrong, they can be a total pain, but it is the right levels of pain. Anything less would lead me to speculate sociopathic levels of Stepford calm. So, I am deeply, deeply grateful to them, for them, everything about them. People often talk about the drawbacks of having kids, and there are many - but they are the meeting of souls at such deep deep levels that it is impossible to explain the connection which is established - children are an insight into a cosmos which you can never expect.
Last night, just before heading to bed, I was contemplating the last few weeks. This transformation from one type of woman to another has totally caught me off guard. The pain and the utter disintegration of the self cannot be explained at all. The image which came to mind was the molten fire which the pupae must go through in order to become an adult moth or butterfly. All of the insides are turned to soup and every single atom and molecule reordered to become something else. I do not know if the pupae feels any pain, but by god, the pain, both physical and spiritual that writhed in me was something else.
I do not think this is a first world problem at all - it is a transformation at the heart of humanity's cosmos. It is a mystery. And the same way in which the pupae has no idea how this transformation is done, I too had no idea how this was taking place. It was something which didn't so much drive me, but utterly took control of me. It was as if I had been possessed by a creature which I was utterly unfamiliar with and taken to a place, dragged kicking and screaming, but expected to function as if everything was absolutely alright - as if this was the most normal of occurrences. And it is not - it is not a normal occurrence to have your entire being questioned, to the point of being ripped apart and have every single thing done by and to you in your life questioned. It was as if I was being torn apart at the event horizon - every single thing I knew about myself ripped apart and smeared across the vast expanse of the singularity.
No wonder women end up going to see doctors saying that there is something wrong with them. There is nothing wrong with them, of course - it is everything which is wrong. Everything is being reassigned and there is the terrible scream which the body is going through. It is a rite of passage like any other and probably because in the past it was rare - women probably didn't live this long, or probably because it was embarrassing, women couldn't talk about their periods, let alone the menopause, or because it was medicalised, just was we were able to name it it was captured and made into something which had to be medicated, it has never really had its place in our language, culture. And yet, here we are, walking through the process.
Finally, of course, the cult of youth means that with menopause a woman is made to feel that someone she has past her sell by date. It is of course a plan by men - to neutralise, to negate, to diminish a woman's experience - always, always, sadly. I do not know when men will ever be able to fully understand or indeed even be able to regard us as equals - but perhaps this is not the point. We need to stop wishing that someone else will do this for us and do it for ourselves.
A woman going through the menopause is made to feel lonely and useless, instead of this being seen as a victory - she has nourished and nurtured and lived and learnt and been alive. She has survived or thrived in some cases, she has come through so much - she is now welcomed into the sisterhood of the hag. It is a badge of honour - one assigned to her by nature. Just as she was welcomed into womanhood so obviously all those years ago - she has passed from Master to Grand Master. It is not a badge of honour given to men who do not have these markers of blood. Women are given this marker of age - of respect. It is really a time for celebration and support.
A time for putting it out there - that I have arrived. It is a bittersweet recollection of life - a celebration of everything which has gone before and is still yet to come. We step into another phase of our lives. It is sobering also to think that the next step will be death. We are born, we have girlhood, we become women, we are hags and then, after twenty to thirty years, we return to the Earth.
Last night I did a death meditation - I imagined what it would be like if I had only a few more hours to live. I imagined I lay in my bed and would never seen another sunrise and I realised how sad I felt, the sorrow I felt knowing that this would be my last night and tomorrow I would be dead - I would not see the dawn. I also felt very alone. Even though Ghin was beside me reading. But it made me realise how the simplest thing, but also the most glorious thing, the sun rising, I had taken for granted. I had even over the past few days and weeks cursed the coming of the morning. That was wrong. I was wrong. I want to greet every sunrise and not take the next day as done. It is not a trudge to be gotten through - that is what the forces of evil want us to think because they can then use us - instead, each day, each sunrise is a gift - and at that moment I resolved not to squander another one.
Sometimes, you have to take a step back to take that step forward again.
There should be menopause parties. We do not fade away - we burn even more steadily, more warmly, more wisely. We savour each day as it comes - we are entering the best time of our lives. With all this wisdom and all this experience of life, with all this which we have built around us. Invisible palaces of love. For all of these, we give thanks.
Finally, there was this one other thought which occurred to me - which was having nothing to show for it. While I was undergoing the privations of the blood fire, It did torture me to think that I 'hadn't much to show' for my life. This of course is pure maya - illusion. It is like that fairytale where the heroine has three walnuts and doesn't realise they are filled with treasure. My treasures are kept in the walnuts I have been gifted with and I have treasure beyond compare - I have my life.
With all of this, I need to manifest this - moping around like some dejected bum is no longer an option. I have come through the fire and forged my wings and I will wear them in their shimmering, beauteous glory. I shake them out and fill them with the ichor that has been distilled from my tears and blood.
Just watch me fly.
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