I was reading John Tarrant’s excellent book on Zen Buddhism this morning in bed, luxuriously naked and wrapped in our down comforter, and sipping the latte that David had made for me (how good a start to the work day is that?).
Tarrant wrote about Tommy Dorsey, a performing drag queen in San Francisco in the 80’s who became Issan, a monk, and later the abbot of a Zen center in the Castro District, the heart of the lavish gay scene. ( Issan said, “I still wear a skirt, but I gave up the heels.”) With a heart as big as the city, and a fierce commitment to service, he cared for guys with AIDS while keeping his wild and passionate off-the wall spirit. Tarrant described Issan as a “feral monk.”
That’s it, I thought as I read that, the top of my head blowing off. That’s what I am.
I’m a feral nun.
Wait!
Before you unsubscribe from my newsletter, entertain this life-altering possibility: Having a big enough spirit at midlife to be both/and, not either/or.
Think of all the splits we tortured ourselves with for the first half century or so of our lives:
- We could cherish ourselves OR we could cherish others.
- We could be our unfettered, unexpurgated selves OR we could be in relationships.
- We could be nice OR we could misbehave.
- We could be mommas OR we could be sexual.
Well, I’m here to tell you, ladies, that the time for splitting -- and all the unhappiness and insanity it creates -- is over.
After 50 we get to be and do both/and. We get to cherish ourselves deeply AND care about those around us. We get to be moms AND lusty, juicy, erotic women. We get to experience living unexpurgated lives AND being deeply cared for in relationship.
And so, voila! my feral nunship.
There’s always been a part of me that would love to go off by myself and just BE: meditate, be quiet with the growing trees, just sit and smell the flowers like Ferdinand the Bull. This part would be delighted to don the flowing robes of a Buddhist nun, turn my back to this crazy culture, and devote the rest of my life to spirit.
But then there’s also the New Orleanian, Mardi Gras parading, zydeco-ing, playfully erotic, makeup loving, chocolate relishing, lovemaking, Nordstrom’s shoe-lusting pleasure monger who deeply loves this crazy life and all its delights.
So now, at 53, I don’t have to ricochet back and forth between the two.
I get to be a feral nun.
I’m contemplating my vows. What might it mean to deeply commit to both sides of myself? How would it be to refuse to choose? How might it affect my life, my spiritual path, my relationships, if I were to truly adopt Walt Whitman’s celebration: “Do I contradict myself? Very well, then, I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.”
Ladies, How much larger life might life be if we took those choke chains off our multitudes!
Imagine how rich and interesting and lively our lives, and our spiritual paths, and our relationships, could become if we danced with our contradictions instead of putting them out to pasture. Imagine being chaste and wildly erotic, self-cherishing and passionately caring, mind and heart, spirit and body.
What if we don’t have to choose any more? What if it’s about the Big Yes to All of The Above?
My first act as a feral nun was to register the website www.FeralNun.com (imagine! No one had taken it!). Don’t know what I’m going to do with it yet (I’m open to any and all suggestions), but I’ve staked my claim, not just for myself, but for all of us who are ready to throw in the either/or towel and just be our wild, woolly, contradictory, richly all-of-the-above midlife selves.
My friend Kay has suggested that we start the Disorder of the Feral Nuns.
Anyone care to join?
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