Metacentricities

In a month or so (August 31st to be exact) I have to be out of our house, because we found a renter for September 1 (actually, one of my present housemates is going to take over, and get more housemates - and he already found a bunch.) I’m quite thankful for that, because the housing market is so bad, that for the two months our house was on the market, no one even came to look at it.  Yes, Virginia, the housing market around here is that bad. Our realtor said that basically nothing listed for more than $200K was selling. Sigh.

So … I’ll be hitting the highway again, this time back to California, a little earlier than I expected.  I’m excited to be moving back to the Bay Area - interested in finding out more about all of the varied things I might get connected to, or involved with.

And there is also sadness - I’m leaving (again) a group of great friends that I’ll miss getting to see often. I’m sad to be leaving New England, the part of the country that seems to me to be as much like home as any I’ve so far found.

So I’ll be packing, having last lunches and coffees and teas with people for a while, downloading audio books, making playlists, arranging moving logistics, scanning SF Bay Area Craigslist for places to possibly look at when I arrive, and hopefully still manage to work, write and stay sane. Wish me luck.

It’s an interesting, liminal time.

Ruth and I are in Cleveland, OH - taking a break from her two-week long residency teaching poetry at Ashland University’s MFA writing program. I joined her for the week, and have been doing a bit of work, and a good bit of writing.

I’m sitting at a cafe, namely Arabica’s cafe, in University Circle. This Arabic was not here when I lived here 20 years ago. There was a single Arabica that had just opened up in Coventry - a fun place to hang out, with people playing chess and go in the back. I was there for countless afternoons and evenings reading and writing, as I was finishing my dissertation.

It’s fun to be in Cleveland, and interesting. I am remembering all of the things I liked about it when I lived here.

Next, back home, time to start thinking about packing, moving, and all of the next steps.

The song by Sophie Hawkins, called “California Here I Come” is playing right now. Not quite by coincidence, it came to mind as I thought of writing this post, so I put it on. But it is one of my favorite songs, no matter where I’m headed.

Short story: I’m moving back to the West Coast, specifically back to the Bay Area, sometime between early October and early November. This time, I expect it will be pretty much for good. One never knows, of course, but that’s how it feels at the moment. Feel free to say something snide if it doesn’t turn out that way.

Longer story: It is partially, of course, to be closer to Ruth, who lives in Oakland now. But in this 5 or so month process that I have been through since Ruth decided to go back to California, I have come to realize that there is a lot for me in the Bay Area, and there seems to be a way that I need to grow that will be facilitated by being there.

What do I mean? New England has been a wonderful place to live. It still does (and I imagine will always) feel a lot like home. It is cozy and comfortable (except in winter!) A lot of dear friends live here. It’s small and handle-able. But in many ways, it’s isolated. It’s far away from my work contacts, far away from potential clients, and there aren’t the kinds of dynamic communities that I got to be a little bit a part of when I lived in Berkeley in 2005-6.

My field of work, nonprofit technology, which feels much more chosen rather than accidental now that I got to take a break to go to seminary, could almost be said to be centered in the Bay Area. There are communities of faith that I can be a part of that only exist there (like City of Refuge, Choctmat Halev, and New Spirit Community Church to name just a few.) I mean, where else can you find meditation groups with queer people of color? Or how about butch yoga?

I also came to an interesting realization. Having spent most of my life living in settings that are largely white, I feel like I haven’t really gotten to fully live out the complexity of my identity. With my move to Oakland, I get to live and move among a lot of other African Americans, who have chosen all sorts of life paths, many as complex and combined as my own (African-American/Lesbian/Geek/Buddhist/Christian/Science Fiction Writer - there may even be more of those than just me!) I got to experience a taste of that when I lived there, but I feel like it will be great to really get to immerse myself in that experience.

What’s great is that I have a network there already, between work and my old seminary friends, as well as a few other folks I’ve known who’ve moved there over the years. I’m excited about the move. And, of course, there is a lot to do (oh, like hopefully sell a house) and such before hand, which is not fun. But I’m just taking it one step at a time.

I’m quite excited - I’m on my way to WisCon, a feminist Science Fiction Convention. I’m doing a writing workshop on Friday, which I’m really excited about, then there are lots and lots of things going on until Sunday night. It’s my first scifi con, which is kinda funny, since I’ve been a science fiction fan since I was a little kid. Somehow I missed the con circuit earlier in life. I guess perhaps because I never was the fannish sort.

This should be exciting, and it has given my writing a burst of energy - now I just need to find the time to use it!

For the last six weeks or so, I’ve been making a Sunday morning trek of about 30 minutes almost directly due south from Shelburne Falls, to Haydenville Congregational Church (a member of the UCC, and an Open and Affirming congregation). HCC is pastored by the Rev. Andrea Ayvazian, a local hero to peace activists (and lots of others) in the valley.

Starting to get to know a new church community is always a bit of a twitchy experience for me. All of my shy quietness comes out. And then, add to that, my own complex relationship with the religion of my birth, and it makes for an interesting experience. I’ve been doing some church shopping over the past few months, and finding the right fit felt like an impossible task. There’s the challenge of hearing “he” and “him” all the time for God. The challenge of doctrine of various sorts. There is the challenge of my judging mind. Having been to seminary, and having been a bit of a bible geek, it’s really hard for me to sit through exegesis that isn’t that good (I remember, with some cringes, of a sermon at another church I sat through with about the worst exegesis I could imagine of my favorite parable - the good Samaritan. I felt like I could have done a much better job, and I didn’t even take preaching!)

I have felt really at home at HCC. It’s a very diverse crowd, in age, background and sexuality. And, I’m usually not the only African American there, which is a nice plus for a Congregational church in New England. Everyone really tries hard to be welcoming, and it is truly genuine. And it is clear from what Andrea says (and the way things are done) that people with a very wide range of views are welcome. And, to top it off, Andrea is a great exegete, and a really good preacher.

Today was the day that I finally, really felt like this was a community I could become a part of. I was looking forward to going this morning, I have begun to get to know a few faces and names, and the noise in my head finally yielded to just being in the presence of the Divine. Today, Andrea gave a sermon based on the story in Luke about Jesus’ appearance to some folks on the walk from Jerusalem to Emmaus. And for the first time, I think I actually got a tiny, tiny little hint about what resurrection means to me.

I remember two years ago, when I was trying my best to approach the concept of Easter - the Christian concept that I think I probably have the hardest time with, and my very well-intentioned but ill-fated spiritual director said that I needed to experience the presence of the risen Christ. I think I flew out of that room about as fast as I could, under the circumstances (I’m exaggerating, but you get the point.) Today, I think I got a tiny little inkling of what that means to me (and it doesn’t really have much to do with any human being actually rising from the dead.)

There are several folks I knew from the Unitarian Society in Northampton, which I find really interesting, considering how secular USNF is. Perhaps those folks have been on a similar kind of journey as I. I look forward to talking to them about what drew them to HCC. And I look forward to becoming part of the community.

I haven’t been blogging here much these days. Partially because I’ve been working really hard technology projects, like my consulting practice, and being Coordinator of the Nonprofit Open Source Initiative (NOSI). Partially because I’m blogging a lot on my technology blog.

Most of the reason that I haven’t been blogging much is that I’m at a loss as to what to say. Not because I don’t have opinions or thoughts on a wide variety of topics. It’s because so much in my life has changed in the last few months, and in the last 3 years, that I think it will take me a while to catch up.

You’ve heard a fair bit over the last year or so about my significant other, Ruth. She came across this quote, which I think is a great description of who we are to each other:

With a kindred spirit we meet our twin flame on a level that has no drama, chaos or karma. We connect to a kindred spirit without needs, wants or expectations. With them we can experience unconditional love in its truest form, where we can be who we are and accept them in the same way. We don’t have to heal or change anyone. We can allow the relationship to be what it is without fear of what happens if it ends, without wrapping our emotional or psychological identity into it and truly experiencing it in the present moment, without connecting to the past. — Jennifer Hoffman

Ruth is, without a doubt, my kindred spirit. And she is, at this moment, making a new life for herself back in the East Bay, in California, while I make a life for myself here, in New England. She left on Wednesday. It would be, of course a massive oversimplification to say that I don’t wrap any of my “emotional or psychological identity” into our relationship. But underneath the sadness that accompanies the loss of an attachment to an ideal, rather than reality, is the certainty that we both are doing what is right for us, and we will, in the most important senses, always be together.

Today, I feel like I have a bit of whiplash. So much has changed over the past 3 years. None of it was really expected, or part of any “plan.” So I need time to rest, be quiet, catch my breath, and move into the next phase of my life.

And, if you know anyone who wants to share a wonderful house in Shelburne Falls, have them give me a shout.

Jane Rule, the well-known lesbian writer, died on Tuesday. I had the great pleasure to go to Galliano Island, where she lived, and meet her a few years ago, because a good friend of mine was a friend of hers.  Jane was wonderful to spend time with.

I had one of those interesting experiences, where you think about what your younger self would have thought if you had been able to see yourself in the future. I remember quite well going to the movie “Desert Hearts” with my girlfriend at the time, when I was a very young 26. The movie was pretty ground-breaking - a movie about lesbians with a happy ending, in 1985. The book, “Desert of the Heart” that it was based on, was itself groundbreaking - part of the first wave of lesbian literature.

She gave so much, and will be remembered well.

I know that Friday Cat Blogging is probably out of style now, but I can’t help it. We have a new cat, whose name is Chivotigre (or Chivo Tigre.) If you don’t speak spanish, it means “goat tiger” or “goaty tiger”. Chivotigre (or, as we sometimes call him Chivito Tigrecito) is a Siamese/Tiger mix, and he is way, way cute.

There was a bit of a rough start last week when we brought him home (he bit me pretty hard) but he’s calmed down, and has become a wonderful mellow kitty (and even lets us put nasty antibiotic in his ear - he has an ear infection.)

Anywhere, here he is. There are more pictures on flickr.

One of the things one does when one moves, at least what I’ve almost always done, is sort through old stuff. Usually, I do it before I move, to cull things I don’t want to go to the new place. I’d had this box of old letters in my friend’s attic, from when I stored some stuff there during my time in seminary. I moved it, and I’m just now sorting through it.

Reading old letters from friends is always a heart-tugging process. It’s been a while since I did it. Most of the letters are from people I no longer am in touch with. Almost everyone I’m not in touch with is because we’d lost touch before the days of email and, later, social networks, which is how I’m increasingly keeping connected with friends (I even have a few college friends on Facebook and LinkedIn.) Lately, I’ve been drawn to Google people, although that more often than not results in dead ends (or in one case, an obituary.)

There are the letters from college friends, to addresses in Cleveland, where I went to grad school. Then there are letters from Cleveland friends, to addresses in Colorado and Massachusetts. A series of letters from an ex-lover. A college roomate once sent me a series of postcards from New York City. Letters from an old friend who I am still in email contact with, and many long letters and cards from a close friend who is estranged. And there are a few letters from people I hardly remember.

One of the most poignant set of letters is from a good friend in Cleveland whose presence no longer graces this planet. It’s also one of those small world stories. I lived in Ruth’s house in Oakland for a short while, and the woman whose room I took had lived in Cleveland at a time that overlapped with mine. We knew some of the same people, and she did seem vaguely familiar, but we hadn’t really known each other. I asked about this friend, Shana Blessing, and she said “she took herself out of this world” - that is, she committed suicide.

In reading the letters from Shana, I am reminded of how tortured she was, and, at the same time, how deeply she felt the world, and how she struggled to find her place. In one of the letters, surprisingly, is this line: “I really feel it is time to return to school. I began by looking for theological schools in the Bay Area, but there does not seem to be a program which approaches spirituality non-traditionally (or should I say traditionally but non-patriarchally).” I wish I could tell her about what I’d experienced, and how life-changing seminary in the Bay Area was for me. Perhaps she already knows.

It’s almost done. 99% of our stuff has been moved from Shutesbury to Shelburne Falls. We need to take one last trip out there to gather up the remaining odds and ends that we missed yesterday. It rained all day yesterday, which wasn’t at all fun, and we’re in a house full of boxes. And I can’t find anything. And we’re both exhausted, and pretty much out of steam. Now, what comes is the slow unpacking, settling in, making this house our new home. It feels good. We took a walk down to town this afternoon, and spent some time at Mocha Maya’s listening to a great band, called Jo Henley. It’s great to be so close to town, and getting out and doing stuff isn’t this big production - we can just go out the door and walk three blocks. Or, we can spend 15 minutes in the car instead of 25-30 to get to a “big town”. Greenfield, the closest, is a great place, and has just about everything we need.

By the way, the movers were amazing. We figured it was a classical Valley story that we hired movers called “Warrior Spirit Movers” who used biodiesel trucks, and the message on their voicemail ends in “namaste.” They were 3 sturdy, young guys who were nice to be around, were efficient, and really hustled.  And they were reasonably priced, too. We were both saying “thank the Goddess for testosterone and youth.” And experience - they knew what they were doing.

I look forward to seeing how the house takes shape, as we unpack the boxes, put up pictures, decide where to put things, and start really living in the house. It feels nice so far.