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Willy-nilly—that is, whether or not I want it—I am in the process of changing it all up. Rather: IT is in the process of changing ME up. I'm at sixes and sevenses, no longer who I once was but unsettled as to who I might be becoming.
This is both good news and bad news, as one might imagine. Although I have talked about it in the past, I don't really enjoy being in transition. Maybe some people do, though that's hard to believe. Remember the butterfly, I used to advise: the caterpillar disappears into the cocoon and emerges as butterfly, yes. But while cocooned, the caterpillar becomes nothing but goo. Sticky, formless goo. Cut open the cocoon in the midst of the transformation and you destroy the process, destroy the prospective butterfly, destroy the erstwhile caterpillar.
This is to remind myself to stay calm. Don't rush it. In the due course of time it will all become clear, what your butterfly will be like.
In the meantime, I find myself, for example, at the Davisville subway station wearing two different shoes on my feet: on my right foot my navy-blue two-strap "dress Birkenstocks", some twenty years old. And on my left foot my three-strap Clark sandals, ten years younger, with the heel strap that makes them safe for wearing outside the house. I never wear my Birkenstocks when I'll be walking, so how did that one get on my foot? I have no answer.
Perhaps even more disturbing is that I stared at my feet for a full minute before I could figure out the problem. Well, I spent the rest of that day mismatched in public. Not exactly engulfed in shame (the shoes did look similar at a quick glance) but wondering where it is that I'm going. What will this part of the butterfly look like?
The goo of my cocoon seems to be filled with lethargy. Imagine the plight of the lifetime Capricorn do-er who no longer wants to do. No project jumps into my head, begging to be accomplished. I'm good for the bare minimum: the laundry (especially when I can hang out the clothes on hot sunny days) and the meals. Oh yes. Also the watering of the plants in the front and back yards.
This is the extent of my activity. Who am I?
I have begun receiving The Guardian on my email every morning. This might not be the best way to start my day. Try as I might to click on only the lightest of news items, I am also drawn to articles that our local press doesn't mention. And I'm not always happy about these stories, which otherwise would have passed me by.
This morning, for example, there were two articles on the Australian scandal at a refugee centre, one of the long-term holding points (I think this one is on an off-shore island) where refugees languish for years without hope. Today's stories concerned the abuse of children at these places. Children. Refugee children. The least powerful people on the earth. No source of comfort. No protection. Who would want to add to their misery and despair?
So how, said my Capricorn self, am I supposed to deal with this? Am I to picket the Australian Consulate here to let them know that someone (one person) is upset? Probably not the best way to change things.
This brings to mind the varioud abbeys and convents where reclusive monks and nuns devote entire days to prayer. Prayers for the unloved and unwanted of this earth. And how effective has this been? Who knows? Maybe without the nuns' prayers things would be even worse.
So is that my answer?
I sit here in my comfortable, carefree life, nothing more to worry me than where my transition is leading me. How do I connect with the rest of the world? Children are being badly treated all over the world. But Australia? Can we not count on them to do the right thing?
What is the right thing, other than to protect the powerless?
Food blog: http://fastandfearlesscooking.blogspot.ca
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