Queen of Swords

I never thought much about wolves growing up, except when I read The Jungle Book and memorized the law of the pack. When I got older, I found out that my sister had an affinity with wolves the way I later came to have one with bears. Later still, as I was looking at fairy tales through the lenses of feminism and women's spirituality, I gained an appreciation for Wolf as a symbol of the wild and dangerous, especially in the area of the sexual.

Funny thing about wolves: we use them as symbols, as literary shorthad for the untamed, the dangerous, the wicked -- but wolves are among the most social and orderly of animals: cooperative, nurturing of the young, disciplined. But we use them to represent the untamed and anti-social. We call criminals "wolves" among us.

When I started writing my novel, the elite of the mercenary troop who invaded my heroine's home were known collectively as The Wolves. To me it symbolized strength, skill, and cunning beyond that of the average man, and pack loyalty.

But wolves meant nothing to me personally until I was a few months into being a mother, and desperate to try to reconcile myself to my new reality. I picked up Clarissa Pinkoles Estes' Women Who Run With the Wolves, and it was a sanity-saver. (She should get the credit for my filtered post of a day or so ago about "feral" -- since that's where I learned the definition of feral as "once tame, now wild.") It was a huge psychological turning point for me when I had the image "Mommies who run with the wolves": which was myself as a Native American woman, carrying my daughter on my back, running with wolves through the forest. My daughter, not at all concerned about this unorthodox behavior, was wearing a "lost boys" style bear-ears cap, waving a bone rattle, and laughing. That was when I realized I could be a Good Mother in my own way, not have to limit myself to the way that my mother was a Good Mother.

So to me, wolves have always symbolized what is both admirable and alien to myself. Whether the wild pack in the forest, or the dangerous men of the warrior-breed, I found myself using "Wolf" to symbolize what I both desired and feared to become (or embrace).

Then, during my most recent spiritual direction session, my director and I were discussing my iminent return to seminary. I said that not only did I yearn for the community, and for others of 'my own kind' who delighted in the combination of intellectualism and spirituality, I also felt that I brought a unique gift to that community: a vision of what lies beyond its borders. Because I, Journeyer-like, speak the language of the academy and of orthodoxy, I can communicate alien theology and beliefs in ways that are more easily understood, which stress the places of commonality first, giving my sisters and brothers an experience of recognition, before stretching their paradigms and asking them to absorb (although not necessarily agree with) the radical.

His response, in part was, "You are the wild woman. You are the woman who runs with the wolves."

*blink, blink*

I, a Wolf to others?

What a fascinating thought. . . .

. . . from the positive, real-world sector of my universe:

I stopped at my neighborhood hangout on the way home from work today and drafted a letter to my department while I had a drink and some bread.

What got me over the hump -- besides all the lovely affirmations left here by my Friends -- was reading a bit of my own fiction that I'd written several weeks ago. The topic had nothing to do with my current issue, but I had written this:

. . . I understood that [the avatar of] Inanna was ruled only by her own desire and reaped the consequences of pleasure or pain with a bold heart.

Something about that made me realize that I should not be casting myself as a screw-up petitioner. I needed to write my note with dignity, explaining what had happened, but not abasing myself. And I'm pretty happy with what I came up with.

I'm going to sleep on it, and aim to send it tomorrow (Tuesday).

You scored as Chalcedon compliant. You are Chalcedon compliant. Congratulations, you're not a heretic. You believe that Jesus is truly God and truly man and like us in every respect, apart from sin. Officially approved in 451. </td> Pelagianism 92% Chalcedon compliant 92% Monophysitism 67% Monarchianism 67% Nestorianism 50% Apollanarian 42% Socinianism 42% Adoptionist 25% Modalism 25% Arianism 17% Gnosticism 17% Albigensianism 0% Donatism 0% Docetism 0% Are you a heretic? created with QuizFarm.com

This test gave me flashbacks to my first seminary course, Christian Anthropology, the first third of which was devoted to the question "What does it mean to be 'human'?" The theory being that it's impossible to meaningfully discuss the degree to which Christ /was/is or is not human unless we first understand what we mean when we say "human."

Taking the test, I realized again that -- despite my love of studying theology -- I found most of these questions to be utterly beside the point where my personal faith and relationship with God is concerned.

I typed another sentence after that, but then deleted it, because 9:30pm is not the time for me to get started on a theological reflection. . . it would be an hour or more before I got to bed.

Maybe tomorrow.

. . . and still not much new going on.

I'm currently reading Jesus: A New Vision, by Marcus J. Borg, for my Christology class that meets for the first time this weekend. He writes very simply and clearly, and it's interesting enough, but nothing about it grabs me.

The point that I find most interesting is his distinction between "the historical Jesus" and his understanding of his identity and mission, contrasted with The Living Christ. Borg asserts that even if Yeshua of Nazareth did not fully understand what he was to become (or become again, after his death?), it does not invalidate the reality of the Living Christ. It's an interesting perspective that I hadn't considered before, but not something that moves or excites me.

I am looking forward to an entire weekend of theological study with Fr. R. The class is at an extension campus, so I'll be driving about 50 miles to the "other" campus on Friday evening after work. Actually, I'll be driving to a hotel near that campus, enjoying a quiet evening by myself, probably staying in and reading, and then driving a mere 10 minutes to class in the morning. I'll also be staying over Saturday night because class goes from 9am to 4pm Sunday. It will be a nice break from being a householder and parent.

. . . I would make reading a book as restful and rejuvenating as the equivalent time spent sleeping.

My bedtime needs to be 9:30pm if I'm going to function well the next day. I was up past that working on my paper (due tomorrow) and then stayed up until 11pm gobbling my way through Lake in the Clouds.

I was in denial, of course, about the impact it would have the next morning (it's such a good book!) -- and now, here I am more than a bit fuzzy in the brain, facing a full day ahead at work, the office Christmas party (we're going on a 2-hour cruise), dinner with my daughter and father after work, the usual bedtime stuff at home with my daughter, and then finishing the paper tonight (I hope).

The paper is due by midnight on Friday night, but Friday night is the daughter's Christmas pageant, followed by family dessert to celebrate that event and my birthday (Sunday the 14th), so I doubt I'll want to do be doing more than the last sweep and polish after we get home from that.

Saturday is housecleaning and then buying and putting up the Christmas tree!

And if I could only read half the night and have it count as sleep, everything would be even nicer!

Here it is Monday, and I feel like I never had a weekend -- but I actually had a fairly good one.

( Weekend Stuff & The Week to Come )

I've finished my paper on Sin, and despite a couple of awkward spots, I'm generally pleased with it. This was one of those times that the act of writing uncovered some ideas I hadn't yet brought to consciousness.

The paper is being submitted for my "Christian Anthropology" class, which is a required course of my M.Div. program. It is based on the ideas of systematic theologian Paul Tillich, with a liberal dose of personal experience and reflection added in. (One of the fascinating aspects of seminary is that it acknowledges that everything we study has a personal implication, and so we are encouraged to include personal reflection as part of our course work.)

So for those who are interested, the paper is hidden behind the cut tag below.

( Sin Paper )

I got to engage in one of my favorite student rituals last week: registering for the next term. No matter how tired and stressed I am by one quarter's classes, registering for the next quarter is always exciting. Here is a brand new subject area to explore! New books! New mysteries! A new journey to embark upon!

My school makes it nice, because they post the syllabus for every class as a link on the online schedule, so we have more than just the course description to go by when we make our selection. As a first-year student, I'm focusing on the required courses, but it's still nice to have the detail.

I'll be taking "Sacramental and Liturgical Theology" -- which sounds exciting to me. (I understand if many of you want to start snoring -- or run for the nearest exit.) Because this is an M.Div. program, which focuses on preparing ministers, there will be a strong emphasis on practical application as well as theological theory. Because it's an ecumenical class taught by a Jesuit, there will be an interesting variety of viewpoints about the number and nature of the sacraments. As a Swedenborgian -- and a Grail Priestess, who celebrates a rite called the Grail Mass -- I'll have a slightly different perspective than any of my classmates. It should be fun.

My online professor reappeared yesterday -- the day after the program director and the dean both promised me they would be having a talk with him. He has not yet responded to student discussion posts, but he has posted the lectures that have been missing for more than a month.

He sent us an email apology, and explained that he "has a hard time writing for more than three hours a day" and this class had not been his only writing activity. As some of you have already pointed out, that excuse would never be accepted from a student.

I'm glad to have him back. It's hard to have a graduate school class without a professor. But I'm waiting to see if he actually makes a significant contribution beyond the lectures.

We are not impressed.

I am taking an online class through an accredited theological school. Tuition for the class is the same as if I were on campus: around $1,500 for the quarter. In exchange for my money, weekly participation in the online discussions about the assigned reading, and a competent 20-page paper, the school will award me a grade and three credits toward my M.Div. It's a nice arrangement, since I live in another state, and would not be able to take the class at all were it not offered online.

At least, it should be a nice arrangment. The fact is that our professor has been absent since about the second week of class. First it was because he had technical difficulties logging into the Bulletin Board site -- and it took him a month to get a solution. We heard from him two weeks ago saying he had access again, and would get to work responding to our comments and posting new lectures -- but we haven't heard from him since.

My fellow students are bright people, and have interesting comments on the readings, but if I wanted to join a theological book club, I would have done so, and saved myself $1,500 of student debt. I have no idea how Dr. X is justifying his absence to himself. If this were a traditional classroom, he could not hope to get by with not showing up for a month or more of seminars.

Last Thursday, I contacted the Program Director of the school, and she has assured me she will be subjecting Dr. X to pressure to meet his responsibilities. If the he doesn't materialize -- with substantial contributions -- by Thursday, I'm placing a phone call to the dean. The situation is absolutely unacceptable.