January Full Moon

My thoughts have been consumed in three major areas this full moon. Generally, it feels like a great period of personal growth and greater self-understanding.

First, on the day of the full moon, I had a brainstorm about my work. I was reading some recent papers I hadn't read before, thinking about my work in relation to the work of these other researchers. I hit upon something that I think needs to be investigated and, even better, I have the tools to do so.

My hunch could be all wrong, of course. I'm working now to do the experiments to test my hypothesis. The revelation from this process comes from the way my new hypothesis affected me. My pulse raced, and I could feel myself getting flushed. I talked to myself and made copious notes. I found myself sitting in my chair, my eyes raised, going through experimental possibilities at a feverish pace.

My December meeting with my committee I learned that they will help me find a new project if I need one. In other words, I don't need this to work desperately -- I will get something else to work on if this doesn't pan out. That means that my elation had solely to do with the fact I was enjoying the process of hypothesizing and planning. It made me remember that I love this process, no matter the difficulties I have been through and that I am doing what I should be doing with my professional life.

The other thought-provoking process I have been undertaking is seemingly much more mundane. A conversation in a pub with a friend (U, a fellow pagan, in fact) led to us complaining about out desire for a more environmentally friendly method of dealing with our periods than the mainstream pads or tampons. My love P suggested trying a reusable menstrual cup. After this, I looked into it and asked about them the next time I was in our neighbour C's store. They were a bit pricey but, of course would pay for themselves in only a few months and anyway they came with a money-back guarantee. I bought one, a silicone one called the Diva Cup.

My period started around the full moon and I pulled my cup out to try it. I am officially in love. It is so comfortable, and contrary to what you might think, is much neater and cleaner than pads or tampons. (I related this to my love W and he said he finds gaping wounds to be less gross that dirty bandages. I think this might be a similar idea.) You can also wear it for 12h without risk of toxic shock -- a very freeing concept -- and it has leaked hardly at all. I feel like I have lost that uncomfortable ewwww-gross-I'm-on-my-period feeling. (I highly recommend this product to any women out there!)

I wish I found this option long ago and I can't believe it's not more widely known. This revelation may seem like a small thing, but don't underestimate the joy of finding an easy solution to a near-lifelong trial. As well, I have always felt somewhat guily resenting a process that is so natural and intrinsic to my being, and which is necessary for my fertility, a beautiful and important part of myself.

More importantly, this has brought a further feeling of growth and figuring-life-out. There seem to me to be times in your life when you are figuring things out at a fast-and-furious pace, and, for me at least, there is such a feeling of pride in accomplishment that accompanies those phases. Whether its a serious lesson about life and life, or just learning a better way to do a task, I always feel like I'm on a trajectory to better self-fulfillment during these times.

Lately, I have lacked that feeling. It been a long time since I figured out something profound about myself, or even learned a new lab technique or taken a class in something new. And it's not as if I have a sense of having everything figured out right now --far from it. In fact, I am plagued with doubts and questions (more on that below). This new way of dealing with menstruation, although it seems a little thing, gave me a little of that "now I know better how to deal with this" feeling. In addition, I can feel better about my impact on the environment, am free of supporting large corporations that use all manner of nasty chemicals on products that come into contact with my body and feel neater and cleaner. In addition, this makes it much more convenient for any spells I wish to do that require menstrual blood. (I have only ever done such a spell once. Menstrual blood, being of the body and with the added bonus of the symbolism that comes with fertility and purification, is one of the most potent magickal substances that exists according to my practice. It is the counterpart of the male semen, and both are hugely powerful. I used my own menstrual blood in a ritual when W and I were about to try and get pregnant. I would only use it for the most important work. The spell worked, apparently -- I got pregnant with my son the first month I tried.)

The third thing that has lead to my feelings of personal growth recently is that I am reading Living my Life, the biography of Emma Goldman, the prominent feminist and anarchist from the turn of last century. It was given to me by E on my birthday, and I am just now getting around to reading it. This is important for many reasons. Emma Goldman lived life so fully and passionately it is inspiring to read about it. She measured her actions against her ideals and tried to match the two in all she did. She tried to make a difference in the world and, equally important to her were the maintenance of love and beauty in her life.

As she sat down to write her autobiography at the end of her life, she could have wriiten solely on her work, and where it had taken her and what she had accomplished. It would have made a complete and full book, and would have been fascinating. But she didn't solely focus on this. She talked as much about how she felt about the people in her life -- her love and trials of a very personal and emotional nature -- as she did about her politics. For her, they were intimately interwoven.

I feel a kinship with E.G. on this level. Like her, I feel I am "woven of many skeins". I need to spend my time doing many different things to feel complete. Lately I have been plagued with questions about how I spend my time. I worry daily about whether I am spending enough time at work (and doing the right things while I'm there) and whether I am spending enough time with my family. When I look back on my life, will I wish I spent more time with my son, or will I be looking back at a career that suffered because I spent too much time with my family and wasn't dedicated enough to my work? Related to this are deeper questions: Who am I? Am I the mother, the lover, the wife, the friend, the witch, the confidant, or the scientist? Of course I know I am all of these things, but to what degree, and how do they interact? I feel like I am often at sea worrying about these things.

I find solace in reading E.G.'s biography that she grappled with many of the same things I am as well. In addition, I identify with her concept that the personal is political -- that all we do influences all of the other things we are involved in. I know this to be true -- I am a better mother when I am also spending some time thinking about experiments and my experiments are easier to focus on when I have had lots of time wih my little guy. Remembering these things day to day is the hard part, and forgiving myself for not having machine-like endurance to be and do all is even harder.

(And maybe the realizations I have gotten from this book will remind me I am happier and more centred when I make time read interesting books as well.)

All in all, I feel like I am getting a handle on things more and more. And that's a really nice feeling to have.

-Thriceraven

A realization

A couple of weeks ago, my son got suddenly harder to put to sleep. Previously he would let me know when he was tired by asking for a nurse and pointing at the stairs, then would happily say goodnight to people. Then we would go up stairs and he would (usually) nurse contentedly to sleep.

Gradually, the process became more difficult. He would still ask to go to bed as usual and happily say goodnight to the rest of the family, but when we got to the bedroom, he would nurse briefly then announce "All done!" I could tell he was tired -- if I gave in and came downstairs again he would be fussy and unhappy and would ask almost immediately to go upstairs again. If I wouldn't take him downstairs and asked him to lay down again he would sit there and cry himself tired, then finally lay down and nurse to sleep, after much rolling and talking and nursing and crying. Many times I would slowly and accidentally fall asleep and wake up to find that he must have fallen asleep at nearly the same moment.

This was really distressing me. I always loved nursing him, and his bedtime was very special to me. It was a time to relax and just lay with him, and kiss his little head as he fell asleep. I knew that someday I would wean him and miss these times, and I didn't want to lose it yet.

One night, for some reason, I was much more relaxed. I could feel my whole body just melt into the bed and I revelled in his warm little body near me. I wasn't anywhere near sleep, but I was cozy and just loving what I was doing at that very second. He fell asleep easily and without fuss.

I realized then that it was at least partly my doing that was making bedtime so difficult. I was laying there nursing him, a task that I love, but I wasn't focusing on it or revelling in it. I had started fixating on all that I wanted to accomplish when he went to sleep. I lay there tense, and my tense shoulders and neck were translating to him.

Things have been better since I made this realization. But some nights it's still hard to relax properly. It's hard not to fixate on what needs to be done -- there are showers to be had and emails to be answered, and a slew of other things that are difficult to do with an awake toddler and so usual wait until he is asleep. But this is a good lesson not to rush the wonderful things in life, especially those that are so very transient. Someday, my son will be a man, with his own life and loves, and I will think wistfully of the days when I cuddled him to sleep. I must savour this wonderful experience while it lasts.

I was speaking to my brother over the holidays this year. He has 3 month old twin boys. He is a wonderful, attentive father and is really enjoying his boys, but we differ in our bedtime philosophies. He won't cuddle his babies to sleep and doesn't understand why some parents "agree{" to do it. I feel bad for him missing this aspect of fatherhood, but perhaps this is something that must be given up if one has two babies and two parents.

Sometimes I wonder how much of our adult search for love and attachment is just yearning for the days that were or should have been when our parents held us close and cuddled us until we slept.

-Thriceraven