Thursday, June 10, 2010

The Archetypal Wife

I have been reading the archives of Reclaiming Wife on A Practical Wedding.  I love it.  Everything Meg has to say.  All the amazing comments from smart and thoughtful women (I've seen no men so far).  It just fits in so well with what I have been feeling and thinking about lately:  What does it mean to be a grown up?  What does it mean to me to be a satisfied, fulfilled, generally happy person?  What do I want to be (when I grow up)?  And, now that Phil and I are getting married, what do we want our new family to be like, how to we want to be as husband and wife?

We have only just started talking about those last two things.  And we got this book to help us out since we're not religious and won't be required to attend pre-marriage counseling at a church or temple.  We've barely begun it, but it has already sparked some good discussions.

At the same time, I just finished Care of the Soul by Thomas Moore, which is a fabulous book and has helped my thoughts on ALL of the above areas start to crystallize.  This morning, because I didn't feel ready to put it down, I was flipping back through Care of the Soul, looking at some of my underlinings and dog-ears.  I came across the following passage in a chapter entitled "Jealousy and Envy: Healing Poisons," which discusses Hera, wife of Zeus and taker of vengeance against his paramours.
In a culture in which women are oppressed and all things feminine are undervalued, "wife" is not as honorable a title as it might be.  When this anima image has no place in the psyche of men, then wifehood becomes literal dependency, and the woman is given all responsibility for home and children.  Men are free of the restraints of home life, but they also suffer a loss, because care of home and family gives back vast amounts of feeling and imagination to the soul.  Typically men prefer the adventurous path of business, trade, or career.  Of course, the career woman also loses anima if she devotes herself to the myth of culture building.  Both men and women can look down on the image of wife and be glad to be liberated from her inferiority.  In this context, the mythological image of Hera reminds us of the honor due to the wife.  Her mythic figure suggests that "wife" is a profound face of the soul.

There just seems to be so much important in this passage about the roles married people take on or refuse.  Of course, there has been much argument around whether feminism should seek power by embracing traditional male roles.  I am not knowledgeable enough about those arguments to rehash them here, nor is that my point.  What seems to be so important here is that it has become verboten for anyone to be the wife, for anyone to gladly and proudly take on that role--male or female.  No one wants to be subservient, no one wants to feel that they have given up themselves.  But what this passage seems to be saying and what I think is so right is that both the husband and the wife must practice taking on the roles of both "husband" and "wife."  There is room for each to be inferior, subservient,  at times without either becoming an Inferior.

This passage also hints at the importance, in a marriage, of not allowing each "I" in the marriage to thrive at the expense of the "We," and it asserts that an individual can work to serve the "We" without losing her "I."  Moore goes on to discuss this in more detail:
In Hera, a person is most an individual when he or she is defined in relation to another, even though this idea seems to go against all our modern notions of the value of independence and separateness.  In our time it doesn't seem right to find identity in relationship to another.  Yet this is the mystery of Hera.  She is dependency given dignity and even divinity.  In ancient times she was given great honor and was worshiped with deep affection and reverence.  When people complain that whenever they get into a relationship they become too dependent, we might see this symptom as a lack of Hera sensibility, and the tonic might be to cultivate an appreciation for deeper union in love and attachment.

It takes special skill and sensitivity for a man or woman to evoke the wife within a relationship.  Usually we reduce the archetypal reality to a social role.  There are ways that Hera can be drawn into the relationship so that being an attentive and serving partner is vitally present in both people.  Or Hera might be evoked as the atmosphere of mutual dependency and identity as a couple.  In the spirit of Hera, the couple protects the relationship and values signals of dependency.  For Hera, you make a phone call when you're on a trip or out of town.  For Hera, you include your partner in visions of the future.

Feelings of jealousy may well be attached to this dependent element in the partnership.  Jealousy is part of the archetype.  Hera is loving and jealous.  But when the value of true companionship is not taken to heart, Hera leaves the scene, and the relationship is reduced to mere togetherness.  Then the individuals split themselves into the independent one who stands for freedom and the "codependent" one, tormented by jealousy.  If in a marriage one of the partners is clearly the wife--and it's not always the woman--then Hera is not being honored.  If you are faced with symptoms of a troubled marriage, look for her distress.
. . .  
The problem is, Hera cannot be evoked without her full nature, including her jealousy and her wifehood, which may at times be accompanied by feeling of inferiority and dependence.  To find soul in relationship and in sex, it may be necessary to appreciate the inferior feelings that are part of the "wife" archetype.
From Care of the Soul, Thomas Moore

Feelings of inferiority and dependence were something I struggled a lot with when, a few months after leaving my job, my savings ran out and Phil and I decided to pool our finances early so that I could take more time to figure out where my career was going next.  At the same time that I felt so thankful to be in a position where I didn't have to run back to law--to be in a relationship where I could receive this amazing emotional and financial support, I was resentful of this new dependence.

Money had always been a tricky thing for me, as I know it is for many people, and having my own income meant freeing myself from power struggles within my family.  It meant getting myself out from under the control of someone else's money and the unhealthiness that fostered in my relationships.  It meant independence and the ability to take care of myself, myself, men be damned.

The possibility of being "kept" was terrifying.  I imagined having to pass every grocery purchase by Phil, not being able to leave the house for lunch with a friend without permission.  And cautionary tales I had been told by women in my family about the need for secret savings accounts ran incessantly around in my head as I did the household chores that had become my sole domain now that I was off work and out of savings.

Eventually, I realized that these visions were not prophetic and that those fears were pretty out of control.  Phil and I spend "our money," we discuss big purchases and financial goals.  I am not ruled with an iron fist; I am part of a partnership with a budget.  We are, for the most part, a team now when it comes to money.  Do I ever feel dependent and worthless because I'm not making money (or much money, now that I've taken on some contract work)?  Hell yeah.  Do I ever resent not being able to buy what I want and having to do all the housework?  Absolutely.  Do I need to work on speaking up more about my opinions regarding our finances? A thousand times yes.  Does Phil resent that he can't pay his loans off as fast as he had planned because he's the sole breadwinner?  I'm SURE, though he insists otherwise.  Am I stuck in a too traditional role? NOOOOOO!

Once my worst fears were not realized, I could peek out from behind my hands a little bit, open one tightly clenched eye.  I started to appreciate the position I was in.  Because we had together decided I needed some time away from work, I took on some different roles both dependent and independent.  I am creating a stronger "I" by allowing myself this time and space for reflection and exploration, and I am contributing to the strength of the "We" by keeping our home, by cooking dinner.  I get this time to be creative, to write, to craft, to read, to sit.  In exchange, I take on the temporary role of housewife.  It is part of what I am starting to identify as the ebb and flow, the rhythm to our relationship.  I'm still working out the nuances of how I feel about it, but the working out has been enlightening, inspiring, opening, so many good things.

For me, the fact that I can see this as temporary is key.  There would be a whole different thought process going on if there was a question of me permanently giving up a career outside the home.  From where I sit, I imagine I would not be okay with it.  But, one of the other things I have learned (slash come to terms with) over the past several months of unemployment is how ideas change.  Opening yourself up to the possibility that you can feel different ways at different times, that you might end up doing something you never thought you would, is liberating -- and a lot less painful than holding firm against the inevitable.

You can't at once credit the enlightened, without calling out those who stumbled around in the darkness

In Ken Burns Civil War doc, historian Barbara Fields argues against giving people an "of their time" pass, because often there are people in that time who are on the right side of history. You can't at once credit the enlightened, without calling out those who stumbled around in the darkness--especially those who did so willfully.
From Ta-Nehisi Coates in The Atlantic.  I have had a tendency to write things off by indiscriminately handing out these "of-their-time" passes that Mr. Coates is discussing.  I may have to go back and re-read Kim, which I love, with a more critical eye.  What I love about this passage is that it is a demand for nuance; it insists that we do something more than shuffle people into categories of right and wrong.


Wednesday, June 9, 2010

I made a doll.

His name is Carl, and I think he looks like a mystic from The Dark Crystal.  I really like his hands; they give him gravitas.




























Ok, Mystics are a little more bent over than I remembered.  But kinda?!
photo from here, via Google image search.

P.S. please ignore all the shit behind Carl up there.  For some reason I can't stop saving empty cardboard boxes.   Hoarding?  Squalor?  Not sure.  Please just look away.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Random Memory

Last night as I was laying in bed, I remembered a meal I had when I was fourteen.  I was at a taco stand in Tijuana with my church group.  We all sat on stools at a large counter to order and eat.  I remember being fascinated watching the chef grab a ball of dough from a huge pile of similar little balls and flatten it between his hands.  He moved quickly, barely seeming to touch the dough as he spun it around in his hands, yet it got flatter and flatter before he flung it onto the grill to sizzle and covered it in shredded cheese.

I think there was meat -- I hadn't become vegetarian yet, but what i remember most was the soft tortilla and the oozing cheese.  The tortilla had the thinnest, glassiest outer shell that shattered almost imperceptibly before giving way to the warm, soft, chewy interior, sandwiching stringy, salty, milky cheese.  It was perfect.  The homemade salsa made it divine.  The platonic ideal of a quesadilla.

After eating (and drinking my first jarritos - fresa), we walked back to the home we were all camping in.  Walking through the town square in the warm night in another country, I felt very grown up, very free, and very cultured.  My belly was comfortably full, I was surrounded by friends, I felt very warm.  My arms and legs tingled with the stars shining down on us.  My mind was quiet.

Later in the trip, we would travel to a shanty town built by flood refugees.  I remember the millions of sunflowers on the sides of the road dancing in the wind from the van as we drove by.  I remember the scrawny dogs and cardboard houses.  I remember holding hands with beautiful Cristina, who looked like Lumi Cavasos, and her cousin--two girls who were not much younger than I was, maybe 10 or 11, but toward whom I felt protective and motherly.  I remember teaching them to sing "Jesus te amo" and "Yo tengo allegria, allegria en mi corazon."  I remember not wanting to bother them with the conversion speech we had been taught.  They took me to meet Cristina's mother and invited me into their house.

Some of the men in our group built a house, and we had a picnic of hot dogs in a nearby park.

Cristina wrote to me once after we left.  I think I forgot to write back (I suck.), but I kept the letter for a long time, along with the picture of the three of us girls that one of the youth group leaders took.  I haven't thought about it since long before we moved from Pittsburg to the big, new house my dad built in Clayton.  I was 17 when we moved - I had probably lost it long before that.

And on top of it all... what was I saying?

Several months ago, my darling superhero boyfriend and I got engaged.  We've been kind of half-ass wedding planning, looking for venues here and there (mostly just wine tasting), becoming obsessed with wedding blogs (me, not him), chatting occasionally about what we want (me: "cowboy boots!" him: "hell no! Since when are you a cowboy?").

It's now about a year out, and I'm afraid things are about to start ramping up -- at the same time I am ravenously job hunting.  Awesome.

My mom is planning an engagement party, and we've chosen a venue, basically:  this really lovely private ranch out near my parents' house.  It's a bit of a drive for everyone except my family, but it's got some really really gorge!gorge! trees, a view of Mt. Diablo over the back of the farm house, and they don't have a lot of restrictions as to which caterer we can use, where we have to buy booze, etc.

I have this plan in my head for the feeling of the wedding that I'm not sure Phil approves of or even totally understands yet.  Maybe it doesn't even make sense except in my head, but it goes like this:

A kind of old-California style: a lot like an afternoon MFK Fisher would spend outside her SoCal house in the summertime, a little bit of the laid-back-ness-hand-out-the-window of a summer road trip, some rock and roll, some fun 60's jazz, awesome 70's country rock, some spanish-colonial-mission-style prettiness, some "earth's the right place for love"

flowing white fabric in the trees
and a bright flowy banner for the kids to carry to lead the guests from one area to another
blowsy pink peonies + pretty cool-colored succulents + herbs + tree branches + citrus blossoms

herby-bourbony coolers

poppies and lupine overflowing the edges of the world

owls and quail hanging out and overseeing everything (gog and magog, my blue-green quail buddies have got to sit somewhere)

pressed glass (clear and green and blue and maybe milk)
white candles
white lace
mission-style wood furniture


“Earth’s the right place for love:  I don’t know where it’s likely to go better.”  Robert Frost, “Birches”

“There is a communion of more than our bodies when bread is broken and wine drunk.” M.F.K. Fisher, Serve it Forth

oh la la.

Reminder

"Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is non-existent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery - celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from - it’s where you take them to."

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Nothing of him that remains but doth suffer a sea change...

This blog and my life have been such a hodge-podge the past several months.  I had one thing that really felt productive and forward-moving, something I was working toward.  Everything else was a distraction during the time I had to spend waiting.  I was confident it would work out and would sift all the tumbling bits of my life into place.  And, I was really excited about it.

It seemed perfect.  I didn't have to spend time in school - I would get to start working immediately, getting my credential on the side.  I would be working with kids who most needed resources and really living what is developing as my philosophy of teaching.  And, I was really excited about it.

I found out yesterday that I didn't get in.  Thank you for the time and effort you put into your application, but... not so much.  Well, fuck, said I.  And, NUH-UH, and what the hellllll?????  And, then, Now what.

Now what, indeed.

Sea changes don't come easily, I guess.  "Suffer" wasn't lightly chosen as the verb of transformation in that passage.  That one program, that one job couldn't have done all the things I was wanting it to do, even if I had gotten in.  No one thing is life transforming.  That would be too easy.  Work is required of me, sweat is required, thought and difficult decisions, working toward understanding.

The next few days are reassessing days.  I have some other options for teaching, but that can't be it.  I sloughed off a lot of the rest of my life while trying to make this happen.  I ignored a lot of things that I shouldn't have ignored.  There is more to me than this one application.  Remind me what that is please?...

A plan is required!  No matter how much I doubt my abilities, I never doubt my ability to make a plan.  So, here I go.  Or, more accurately, here I keep going.

Now what, indeed.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Fabulous

Ok, this is a wish list post.  I have been lusting after cowboy boots and a vintage typewriter for some time now.  Random, yes, but these are pretty near perfect.  I love the colors of both.  I mean, a baby blue typewriter! Come ON!















Sunday, April 11, 2010

Instructions

Beautiful book by Neil Gaiman, read here by him