Awen

Awen (noun): poetic inspiration. From the Indo-European root *-uel, meaning 'to blow'.

I love the concept of awen. A wind blowing through your soul, bringing inspiration in its wake. I've only recently discovered the term, in reading about modern Druidic tradition amongst many other explorations of pagan paths. It immediately spoke to me, like few other concepts in any tradition have ever done. I know that feeling intimately, and seeking it forms a big part of my own search for a spiritual identity. For me, without spirituality there is no awen, and without awen there is no spirituality. The sense of connectedness and transcendence is something I have sought since I was young.

Music has always been one of my sources of awen. When listening I find it in music of all genres, from classical to new age to Enya to ordinary pop/rock ("Solsbury Hill" by Peter Gabriel and "Steer" by Missy Higgins are perfect examples). I also find moments of it when singing or playing an instrument in a group - those moments of transcendence when the ensemble combines perfectly and the music itself seems to come to life. It's one of the major reasons why I still love Anglican church services - there is a magic in massed voices that defies artificial boundaries between faiths.

The natural world, and its weather and the turning of its seasons, has always been my biggest source of awen, and it is what led me to paganism. Red berries against a blue sky, sunlight across the plains, a crayfish scuttling under a riverbank, the wind in my hair, mist rolling up a valley, thunder on a hot night, the first frost of autumn... when I am out there in the natural world, awen is everywhere.

Of course, the man-made world is not without awen either. Buildings that are old or odd or quirky. Artworks I like for no better reason than that they speak to my soul. (Here is one - I have seen the original in the Tate and was captivated). Crafts that are nifty or cute. An uplifting book scene or a really clever joke. When I open myself to it, awen is everywhere.

My desire to write fiction has been driven by childhood experiences of awen. It was lacking in my real life - we were not a religious family - and my main sources of it, then as now, were music, nature and stories. My formative years were shaped by books and stories told in electronic media that blew into my soul, inspiring me to act them out, extemporise, adapt and retell over and over again out in the half-acre scrap of garden and bushland that was my childhood temple. All of the books I've tried to write and the stories I've tried to tell have contained elements of this raw need to channel, create, inspire and share the sensation of awen.

Age 9, glowing with inspiration

 I've been thinking about this a lot lately, as I try yet again to put words on paper, or on screen as it is these days (and perhaps that's part of the problem). The wind of inspiration blows into me, and I come alive with the thought of the story I have to tell. I envisage it whole in my head, see it, feel it, live it out in little scenes in my mind, but when the words reach the page they seem to lose their sparkle. How do I maintain that sense of wonder, and the fierce spirit of inspiration? How do I keep the fire of awen burning for the weeks, months and years it takes to craft a novel? How do you keep your spirit glowing with purpose when you're burdened with money worries, or the toddler is being irrational, or when the housework never seems to be finished? How do you teach your heart to be open to awen every moment of every day? Not just for novel writing, but for teaching, and cooking, and keeping house, and nurturing my loved ones, and hoping and believing and growing?


What are your sources for awen (or whatever you would choose to call it)? What reminds you that it's good to be alive, or feeds your creative fires? Where do you get your inspiration?

Not Hiding.

Warning: Very Serious Personal Revelations Ahead. May Not Be Comfortable Reading For Some.

One of my goals for this year is to live a 100% authentic life. I no longer care to hide and suppress elements of my personality just because others may not understand or approve.

Being open about my faith was one of these things. People have to accept that I am a Christian (whether they like it or not) or get out of my way, period. I've discovered a few people who think I'm a nut, but mostly people have been supportive and appreciative about it. I've got so comfortable about it now that I can drop the words "and on Sunday after church" or whatever into a sentence without self-consciousness.

There is another thing I want to be open and unselfconscious about, and unfortunately in many peoples' minds it will be completely incompatible with the aforementioned Christian faith. I don't believe it is, but revealing it may mean that some of my strongest Christian friends will pull away.

Still, I'm not hiding any more. Come what may, the friends that accept me for all of who I am are the ones that truly matter.

Which is why I'm putting out there the fact that I am bisexual. I first realised I was when I was 19, but that was an "oh duh" moment; the attraction to women as well as men had been there for as long as I could remember.

I have told only a handful of people this fact, and only in the past year. But I'm really tired of people not knowing. And I'm really tired of believing that I have to keep it a secret because I don't want to rock the boat, or put people off, or because having kids was my ultimate goal and that's so much harder in a girl-girl relationship.

Enough hiding. I am who I am. Wherever it takes me and whatever it means.

Ironically, I suspect that in the balance of things the majority will be more tolerant of my sexuality than my faith . . . *sigh* What a strange postmodern world this is!

5 Words Meme

In which I avoid essay-writing by writing an essay.

Over on LJ, my friend Hilary offered me 5 words that she sees as representing me. I am responding to them here :)

She offered me: England, music, writing, church, archaeology.

England

"Why do you say 'one' like that?"

This question plagued me as a child. I couldn't mimic the way my Australian-accented peers pronounced 'one'; in fact I still can't say it "right". Although my mother had been in Australia for 15 years by the time I was born, her English accent lingered into a slight English inflection, and I picked it up.

I was about 18 when I discovered that I could get Right of Abode in England due to my mother's origin. This fired my imagination, and in my first year of university I did a lot of in-depth research about the possibility of doing my archaeology PhD (then an assumed part of my life plan) at an English university. I was stymied in my plan when I realised that I would have to reside there for three years first if I didn't want to pay fees. That didn't fit the timetable, so I abandoned the idea. I miss those days, when I was so innocent and naive and believed in timetables! At 18 the future was so nebulous and so LARGE. It was inconceivable that I would ever feel like I was running out of time. But then, when I was 18 I also thought I'd be done with having kids by the time I was 29 :S

England lives in my mind as a kind of Mecca - the centre of all things, the place to go, to experience, from whence all things come. I'm proudly Australian, born and bred, but England is the Homeland and the Motherland in a way in which Australia can never quite be. To be a non-indigenous Australian is to share in a cultural uneasiness about our rights to this land and the life we live here (and rightly so). But in England I can be English without apology.

I've longed for an overseas holiday for years (with the UK as the destination), but I have been perpetually broke, and nothing has ever come of the longing. I have often considered living there, but until recently I was too emotionally broken to even consider being that far from my family. I still have my moments of uneasiness when I'm not at all certain I'm making the right decision, but it's too late now so I'll have to stick to my guns and go through with it! And the larger part of me is sure that this IS the right decision, and can't wait to get on with it.

England, T minus 60 days and counting!

Music

My mother has a lovely singing voice, and I can remember her entertaining and soothing songs from my earliest childhood. Along with the usual children's songs and rhymes, I vividly recall "Annie's Song" and "Drink to Me Only" amongst her repertoire, as well as the Rolf Harris classic, "The Court of King Caractacus". She also played a lot of recorded music, and my love of classical music is due to her influence.

We had a small portable piano keyboard in the house, and I spent countless hours playing with it. My primary school was music-oriented, and I learned music theory and recorder from an early age. I still play the recorder today, and although I do now have a nice wooden one, my old plastic one from school is still kicking around here somewhere!

At a younger age I often told my parents that I wanted to play the French Horn, a request that received "hahahahNO" answers ;) By the age of 9 or 10 I'd switched my request to flute, and that one was granted, I think partially out of relief that I'd abandoned the brass section!

I'm not very good at the flute, but I've been playing for a good 19 years now. Throughout school I played in concert bands, sang in choirs and musicals, and took music theory and composition classes. As an adult I've also played in concert bands and ensembles, sung in choirs, taught class music in schools, and I still tinker with composition and arranging in my spare time (ha!). 

Music has always been a part of my life, and I can't imagine being without it. I hope that when I have kids I'm able to surround them with the wonders of music.

Writing

I've been known to tell people that writing isn't something I do, it's something I am. This is slightly poncy, I'll admit, but it's true. I can't give up writing any more than I can give up breathing. I've tried a few times, and it always gets to the point where I just HAVE to start again or I'll burst!

I have dozens of old note books filled with story ideas, some going back as far as the 1980s. In my earlier years I tended to act out my stories rather than writing them down. I lived in a world of imaginative play, and had many long-running stories that received a new instalment every time I was in the mood for that particular game. Two of these in particular are still major items in my 'plots waiting for inspiration' bank. Some of these 'game' stories were blatantly derivative, but others were surprisingly original and interesting.

In my teens and early 20s I wrote reams and reams of stories. My two favourite works from my teenage years reached 11,000 and 13,000 words before I grew out of them. The first of these owed equal parts of its inspiration to Tolkien's "The Lord of the Rings" and M.M. Kaye's "The Ordinary Princess", with a dollop of C.S. Lewis thrown in for good measure. It didn't rip off any of the characters or ideas exactly, and a lot of it was wholly mine, but the similarities were unmissable. The second was completely original and I have no idea from whence the ideas sprang, but it suffered purely from the fact that the writer was 16 years old and was trying to write convincingly about a young, orphaned queen in a medieval setting. Oh, the stereotypes. Ouch! I can't even re-read a paragraph of it these days without cringing.

The major story of my 20s peaked at 20,000 words before I got stuck on a major plot flaw and had to abandon the whole thing. After the latter I lost my nerve for a while, but I have always come back to writing in the end.

Looking back on some of my earlier work (all diligently saved and transported to each new computer system since I first had my own machine in 1995!), I can see the potential there. The prose is purple, the dialogue is execrable and the characters stereotypical; but the plots are fairly sound.

At the moment I'm working on a shiny new version of the previous 20,000-word effort. The plot has been thoroughly scrubbed, honed and polished, and is shiny and new without losing the original idea. I have been poking it thoroughly and haven't found any holes yet, so it's looking good this time.

Church

Most people go to church because they have faith. My faith, on the other hand, has grown out of my involvement with the church.

I wanted faith as a child - wanted it badly. I read a lot of books where the characters were all Christian, living in exclusively Christian societies with faith as a given (the Anne of Green Gables series and the Laura books, for example). I knew there was something wonderful about faith, and I knew that I lacked it in my own Christmas-Christian wishy-washy culture.

When I was 20 I decided to start going to church, because, well, I was living on my own and no one would be there to laugh at me for it! I almost accidentally found myself in a Nine Lessons and Carols Christmas service at St George's Cathedral. That started a love affair with cathedrals and choral music that persisted even when my faith wavered.

I went through a huge period of disillusionment and rejection of religion in my mid-20s, a time of disastrous personal missteps and clinical depression. As I dug my way out of that hole my love of the church began to re-establish itself. I started going to church again, and began to develop stronger feelings about faith and belief.

In the past few months, the strength of my faith has doubled and doubled again. I've finally surrendered myself to it, and it feels as wonderful as I always imagined it would. I'm still thoroughly Anglican, but I do finally understand how those of an evangelical persuasion are driven to shout about their faith. The strength and purpose of faith is incredible. I have been blessed with the Holy Spirit, and now I actually know what that means :)

Even more fascinating, to me, is the fact that my increasing faith is compelling me to draw closer to the church, too. As previously mentioned I've taken on the units for a major in theology, and I think it's extremely likely that I will follow this BA up with a Master of Ministry and ask to be considered for ordination. I am already a teacher, and being a teacher of love, charity, hope, tolerance and joy . . . yes, I could see myself doing that.

Archaeology

My interest in the past was already well-developed by the time I hit primary school. I very rarely read anything set in the modern world. I read children's Victoriana or fantasy for preference, and was fascinated with ancient cultures after watching the 1980s anime The Mysterious Cities of Gold. In my confused, imaginative childhood I spent countless hours pretending that I was someone else, long ago and far away.

It wasn't until I was fifteen that I suddenly realised that I could make this interest a life pursuit. Some passing reference to archaeology set me on a new track and gave me a real ambition for the first time. I became single-minded in my career prospects, and at 22 I was a qualified archaeologist and museum curator.

Unfortunately, the dream wasn't the reality. The archaeology field, as I experienced it, was cliquey, profit-driven and client-oriented. Perhaps in the museums and universities it's better, but I found consultative archaeology to be soul-destroying and miserable (a state of affairs not helped by dreadful clinical depression and an unfamiliar environment when I was working in Sydney).

I still love the past, and still love archaeology. When I get to the UK I hope to join in some digs as an amateur, but I doubt I'll ever work as an archaeologist again. I think perhaps I've outgrown that idea of myself, and I can't imagine stepping back in time to fill those shoes again.

I do have many fond memories though. I excavated a spider once ;D

Decisions and Thoughts

It's exactly 4 months today until I leave for London.

I am SO ready to go. There are lots of people and things I'll miss, but the closer the date gets, the more I'm looking forward to the freedom of it. I need to get away from the too-familiar patterns of life. I need to get away from people who constrain me with assumptions and expectations that I should not have to meet. I need to get away from the constant scrutiny and questioning and everything.

In case it's not obvious, I'm feeling a little harassed at the moment! I love my family dearly but sometimes I feel like everything I do is under the microscope, and I'm tired of being constantly cross-examined and/or bullied about choices that are no one's business except mine. I am desperately looking forward to a fresh start and a nice solid distance between me and the people who think they know me.

I will miss them horribly, of course. But it will also be exhilarating.

I took a slightly scary step today and altered my units so I'm double-majoring in Literature and Theology. I wasn't going to do it, because it would interfere with my creative writing minor; but I realised that I couldn't get that minor without doing several internal units, and that's going to be impossible if I'm still in London, or if I'm back in Perth, may or may not be impossible, as I have no idea what I'll be doing! I can do the Lit & Theol double major entirely externally, so I've picked my probable units and worked out a schedule of study. I've decided to push myself this semester while I'm not working full-time, and do three units. Then I'll drop back to two for two semesters before jumping up to 3 again. At that rate I'll finish halfway through 2013.

The Theology major is a source of major (heh) confusion. Part of the reason I decided to go ahead and do it is that I have absolutely no idea why I'm so drawn to it. I just don't know what it is about having a degree in theology that is so irresistible, but it's drawing me towards it and I can't say no. It's absolutely bizarre. I've wanted things, many times; I want the lit degree, for example. But the theology degree wants me. I've never experienced anything like it. I'm so confused. It's not something I've planned or expected or anticipated, but it feels like exactly the right choice.

(I wanted to insert a macro in here with an In Soviet Russia, Degree Gets You caption, but I couldn't find a picture that I liked, so you'll just have to take it as read.)

There's a word in my mind, and writing it or saying it out loud is almost beyond me at the moment, but I can't chase it away. Ordination. There. Ha. Wrote it.

It worries me because it would be so hard to get people to understand why I was doing it. I'm a naturally religious girl in an apathetically agnostic family. How does that even happen? I'm becoming more and more comfortable with the fact that faith is an integral part of my personality, and I'm learning to talk about it without embarrassment. But such a public display of commitment to that faith? Some of my family might never speak to me again. I know that for a fact. Other friends and family might drift away, or never feel comfortable around me again. I would expect to pay an extremely high social price for making that commitment.

And yet, I'm not the slightest bit afraid of it. Just intrigued.

And THAT is scary. I'm scared of my lack of fear. Huh.

... Yes, I did say I was confused.

This is part of the reason why I just need to be away. I can't see or hear what I want to do over the shouting of social expectations. I'm craving the solitude of being a very long way away, so that I can hear myself think and work out where I'm going with this.

In some ways, the 8th of May is the end of the forseeable future for me. I have absolutely no idea what will happen on the other side of it. But I have no doubt it will be exciting and fascinating.

*

In other news, my ebook reader finally arrived today, and I've loaded it up with the complete Sherlock Holmes. Oh, the joys of reading :) *sings*