A Feminine “Ash Wednesday”
Ash Wednesday has always been a challenging day for me on the religious calendar. I’ve never fully known what to do with it. So, I’m revisiting it yet again from my feminine vantage point and imagining what sort of holy day I might make it for myself.
Ash Wednesday, for the Christian tradition, is the very beginning of Lent – the time of entering the “wilderness” of our own inner landscape. The person seeking to become baptized on Easter used to spend these 40 days in intense self-examination, prayer, and self-denial with a focus on Jesus and his sacrifice of self-giving.
I get it. As a 12-step person, in times past I’ve done my personal inventory, looked at where I’ve hurt myself and others, shared these stark truths with a trusted person and with my Higher Power, asked for forgiveness or offered apologies where they were due and asked for a fresh start. It has provided that sense of a clean slate and has offered mental and spiritual relief – much like the tradition of Ash Wednesday and Lent.
But as I’ve journeyed further, I find that self-examination and self-denial are not what I generally need and, today, I’ll do something different.
This morning I appropriated the burning of white sage and did a spiritual cleansing. I drew a cross and a spiral on my forehead with the ashes.
More cleansing and renewal for me, today, might be a quiet time with myself this evening before a shower or bath – a look in the mirror to say, “I love all of you, the scars, wrinkles, dimples, contours, gray hair, moles and freckles and I See You. I give thanks for the dear Body who has carried me through the years. I forgive my inner Self for any hurts you’ve caused, the times you’ve stumbled, the way you’ve judged yourself harshly, and your lack of self-love.”
The Ho’oponopono might come in at this point. I might say to myself and to the Divine, “I’m sorry, Please forgive me, Thank you, I love you.” That’s the point at which I would step into the shower, hot tub or bath and allow myself to soak in the cleansing waters – waters that wash away hurt, exhaustion, self-judgement. I’d take the time to absorb self-compassion, reconnect with my own divinity, and open to the spiritual support always ready for me whenever I allow it.
As I dress myself for bed, I might use oil or lotion to anoint my stiff joints and dry skin. I might drink some warm milk (in my case, almond milk) with cinnamon and nutmeg. And then close my eyes and imagine myself on the great Net of Light which surrounds Mother Earth like a blanket. I picture the golden net holding all that I love, supported by the great beings and ancestors. I send out my own love and light into that Net and, by so doing, I reconnect with the Divine, with myself, with my beloveds in all the worlds. I send love, light, prayers and healing to those who are hurting or in harm’s way. I ask the Net to heal and mend the fractures between us. And I give thanks for this beautiful connection with the Divine.
That’s how I will begin this time of walking towards the spring equinox and the new life of Easter. That is how I will renew my spirit this year.
An open letter to our family and friends:
I missed writing my regular Friday blog post because I forgot it was Friday (until dinner time) and on Friday I’m supposed to do something. So, today is Saturday, and I’m writing.
In our little neck of the desert, we’ve had wildfires running rampant nearby. A friend evacuated from her home last night (close to the mountains and fire). We watch the billows of smoke, hope for winds to settle and moisture to arrive. 
almond flour muffin for breakfast – maybe a salad for dinner or not…maybe tortilla chips and carrots and sugar-free chocolate chips. Eating at all different times of day. Food seems boring and effortful. Sleep habits are discombobulated.
Grief
Only you
In recent years, I have been thinking of writing down my life story – just for my kids, for posterity. This is something of a joke in my family because my mother’s “autobiography” upset all of her relatives (including her children). It definitely had something in it to upset everyone. I guess she just needed to get her perspective out there for all to hear. Oh well. But the story I’m thinking of putting down on paper isn’t from that perspective at all – a listing of all the hurts, upsets, and disappointments of life. I realized one day, just a few years back, that my life story is a series of miracles – one right after the other. Plenty of ups and downs, but whenever I was in desperate need of help, it always, always arrived.
It is my dear friend, Robin’s, birthday today. She wrote, this morning on Facebook, “This morning while I was having my coffee on my patio a white feather floated by me and there were no birds around. So, I googled it: ‘This is the most common angel feather and is thought to be a sign of faith and protection. A white feather can also be your Angel telling you that any loved ones in heaven are safe and well.’” She concluded by saying, “Thank you Heidi and Gammy, the best birthday present ever.” What a beautiful story, symbol and message. And to think that Google was the intermediary! But, knowing Robin, she already knew what this meant. She just wanted written confirmation. 🙂
The other story my mother found even more traumatic and that she never could quite explain was when our family went to see the Chinese New Year parade in China Town (in San Francisco) when I was around three years old. The crowd that gathers for this event is huge and tightly packed on the streets. I was old enough to not want to be held or carried, and heavy enough for my mom to agree to just hold my hand. Because of the crowd, she and I got separated from my dad and sisters. As she told the story, we were packed so tight as the dragon began to go by and the crowd celebrated, that she couldn’t move. But when the main attraction passed, the crowd began to move like an excited river, with a lot of force and momentum completely heedless of anything in its path. She tried to pick me up but was unable to reach me. She said, “Out of nowhere a very big man appeared and could see the panic on my face. He looked down and saw you there and, without a word, he just planted himself there like a brick wall between you and the crowd. I started crying. When at last I was able to bend down and pick you up, I looked up to thank him and he was nowhere to be seen. He was just gone.” These are stories I’ve been told most of my life – but I don’t remember either of them. I am claustrophobic, though, and I get panicked in crowded rooms. My mom thought there was a connection.
Note: I know that my isolation time and that of most of my dear friends is one of privilege. Some are still working hard out in the world. (Thanks to each one!) Without the support of the workers, those of us in isolation would waste away or be forced out to risk contagion and spreading the virus. So, we are here, learning lessons of isolation, by the grace of other human beings who are making it possible. Others, in isolation, are suffering from poverty and various forms of abuse within the home. It is not a pretty picture – not a gracious learning time – for them. This is the reality of many of our neighbors. We each need to figure out how to offer a word of safe encouragement and support to these folks. Often, in later years, we may rely on our spiritual community to be the haven to which those in dire straights can flee – so we can support their ministries, their leaders, and other social services where possible. Hopefully, they are able to point those at risk to shelter and relief.
So, back to the rhythm of isolation. I don’t know if you are finding it this way, but some weeks I have higher goals and energies than others. Other weeks, I must focus on the simplest of pleasures, those nearest at hand and relax into them as my whole purpose. This has been such a week for me. No lofty purpose or big picture. My journal holds words of appreciation for the birds – especially red ones this week – for a cool breeze, for shade, for clouds, flowers, trees, and water. Savoring peace.
But I also can go a bit astray in these “easy” days. Not taking adequate time for prayer 
I have no idea what to write at this point. I don’t think this week will go down as a wise, measured, or well-reasoned one in U.S. history (to put it mildly). No one in the country seems to really have a good plan – though I know some very good people are trying to give us one (and then another, and another). This response to the pandemic is an experiment through and through. Conspiracy theories abound.
Here’s a mildly amusing reality. The good and bored and winter-worn folk in Minnesota plan to hold the well-beloved 
Joy this week has been found in natural beauty, humor, friendship, music, Minecraft with my granddaughter, occasional texts from my daughters and friends, video chat with my sisters and sharing the occasional tasty morsel of food. (Yes, one more Chipotle order.) I am still “casting the Net of Light” each morning and night – sending love and light to friends and family near and far, to people who are hurting, to creation, to life.
At this point we are all getting down to brass tacks, I think. Comedians are struggling to find fresh humor, government leaders, gurus and ministers are struggling to find anything new or enlightening to say (though I truly do appreciate the effort). The rest of us struggle to find purpose in our daily routines – other than just biding our time. There’s this faint little air of desperation that kind of lingers in the background – even in our jokes.
I again asked the Divine for presence, for wisdom, for support. While the birds sang and quails warbled, a breeze blew softly. I watched a lizard on my fence walk sideways, then do pushups in the sun. And then I saw this. Last summer a huge bud appeared on this cactus, then it just folded up and faded away. Today, there was a fragile pink-tinged white bloom with gorgeous yellow center on the most unattractive, lumpy cactus.
my children on the school bus or the airplane. It is this truth that allows me to sit by a loved one who is gravely ill and not be so afraid. It is this truth that under-girds my hope for humankind.”
following the golden thread 