All my bags are packed, I’m ready to go… (Recent developments, both spiritual and logistical, regarding my move; and my reactions to them.)
As per my dearest Lady’s instructions, I am moving out of CA. Officially heading out on Monday. This is a Good Thing. It will lead to many interesting experiences, fun and useful relationships, happiness with my finances, and lots of growth on the family front.
Except after a month and a half of painful goodbyes, I’m completely worn out. I should be flattered by how many people have expressed denial and angst at my leaving. And in time I probably will feel flattered. For now, however, I’m just sad. Even after six weeks, I’m still in shock.
My Lady made sure that instead of heading out in September as I had originally planned (the situation seemed more urgent, initially; and anyway, who wants to deal with painful goodbyes?), I got the chance to do this leaving thing maturely. She put Her foot down and made me wait out the month of October. Sit and stew in the sadness. No easy escape. Probably for the best, as I get to feel the loss now instead of bottling it up for later processing. At this point, though, most of me just wants the move to be done already so I can finally start rebuilding.
I had a friend do a reading for me a week ago, and she verified that this move is good and that several good opportunities will come out of it–ones that I couldn’t get if I stayed where I am now. (Readings done by friends are always a bit tetchy, as sometimes it’s hard to put aside your knowledge of and feelings for the readee, but as this is a friend who is particularly unhappy with my leaving, I’m thinking it was spot on. As an aside, I also received a contract from the Morrigan for doing essentially what I was already doing anyway, which is a post for another time. Suffice it to say that the Gods are busy, busy bees.)
As to my feels…. I feel like I’m dying. It’s melodramatic, but it’s true. I really do feel like I’m voluntarily orchestrating my own death, and I’m dealing my friends and acquaintances as if with mourners at my funeral. A couple of people have flat out expressed concern that they will never see or hear from me again (which is a tad premature, IMHO). In some cases I feel like I’m having to take care of those who are grieving for me while I’m still in the process of grieving myself, which is a situation I don’t recommend. Again, I will be touched and amazed by this reaction and the love that underlies it later, once the pain has passed.
But me dying, yeah. This whole moving process started out–before I even knew I was going to be moving–by a journey in which I was killed by Freyr. That death, though shocking at the time, wasn’t really that bad. By the end of the journey, I didn’t feel like I had lost much but had instead gained quite a bit. I was also given a house in Vanaheim by Freya. Her words as She did this were, “You have earned this home through your work for me. It is your own private home; no one else can enter. Here, you can relax and unload in peace.” (In other words, I died, and was given a spiritual home. Two weeks later I lost my real home and my life took a dramatically different turn. You do the math.)
Saying “I lost my home” makes it sound like some kind of tragedy befell me, when, in reality, I just faced my responsibilities with a clear and emotionally sober mind. I thoroughly analyzed my options; and made the choice willingly. I was hoping that choosing this path willingly would somehow soften the outcome, but that doesn’t seem to have been the case. (Gods, it really sucks acting like a grown up. Not that this is groundbreaking news, but still.)
Death. I’ve always viewed death as a snake shedding it’s skin more than an ending, per se. Now, however, I feel like I really get what the caterpillar feels before as it becomes as moth. It’s messy and gross, with much of me dissolving right before my eyes, in painfully slow motion, and I have no idea what kind of beautiful butterfly will come out of this cocoon at the end.
Here are the things that feel like they’ve dissolved away:
My recovery community. My status and role in that community. My traction in my recovery program, not to mention loss of my sponsor (who threw me a lovely surprise going-away tea party, but still–I need to get a new one). Loss of many people I liked and respected who I quite likely will never see again. I get to keep the closest ones, true, but the community is large, and I interacted with a wide variety of people on a lot of service projects.
I’ve also lost my role in my pagan interfaith community. You could argue that now I get the chance to broaden my interfaith community, but I’d rather have had a more solid standing in the CA interfaith community before I moved away from it.
I’m losing my role in my Heathen communities here, as well. I’ll always be welcome at any of their events, but if I end up staying in the Midwest for a while–as is looking likely–I will end up being a visitor and not an active member.
Not to mention that I’ve lost 85% of my physical belongings. The local library, Salvation Army, and various and sundry friends and acquaintances have benefited greatly from my move. (I will be itemizing all of this in detail on my taxes later, though, boy howdy.)
And I’m struggling with losing respect for myself. However beneficial it’ll end up being on the spiritual, financial, and relationship fronts, I am still a) leaving CA, and B) moving back in with my parents after 20 years. Not exactly what I had thought I’d be doing at almost 40 years old.
Finally, I’m feeling the death of my identity. Who am I? What parts of me will survive this transition? Who knows. I’m trying to resist making too many plans for what I want to do in the Midwest, because that’s the point–losing the plans I thought I had now, and letting better, healthier ones take their place. If I’m going to go through all of this pain and upheaval, I sure as hell am going to get my money’s worth out of it.
So now I’m in the dark, fallow period–like Freyr in the Mound during winter–waiting until I can rebuild. I’ve got a 2000 mile physical journey ahead of me before I can even think to start rebuilding. (And knowing me and my SAD cycles, it probably will be spring before the rebuilding takes place in earnest.) Hero’s journey, bah. Joseph Campbell, eat your heart out.
If you can, wish me safe travels. I could use all the well wishes I can get.