The Minstrel

Happy Easter!  Here is a story I wrote after imagining Jesus as a Minstrel.  I share it with YOU!  

The Minstrel

The Minstrel arrived unannounced into the valley with the first warm breeze of spring. Carrying his fiddle and his battered old leather bag strapped over his shoulder resting on his hip, he made his way to the sandy shoreline of the river to set up a respite camp. Quietly, he lifted his bag over his head and laid it against a log and went off to gather some firewood. 

It had been a while since he had eaten anything. His hunger made him cold. It bit into his loneliness which fortunately he rarely felt. But when it did slip under his skin, it wandered aimlessly until it found the dark ring in his soul. In moments like these, he longed for a warm place to call his own. But he knew himself well enough that his feet were made for wandering and his place he called his own were the wide open spaces. The ability to bring joy to others on his journey with his music kept the loneliness at bay most of the time. 

In no time, a small cooking fire was established and his pot filled with soup given to him by a farmer's wife from the village up river was warming up. He took his other pot and scooped some river water to boil for tea. As he waited, he picked up his fiddle and began to play the quiet tune he savoured as a tribute to his true love. He never shared this one with anyone else. It was his prayer, his meditation he held close to his heart.

Soon the soup was hot and ready to eat and he set his fiddle off to the side. As he was digging in his leather bag in search of his spoon, two young boys, just on the cusp of manhood, had made their way down the path to the shoreline carrying offerings for the stranger. One was carrying homemade bread and the other was carrying more firewood. Like everyone in the village, they had watched the man set up his camp with keen suspicion. No one new had been through the village since the summer before.....the intrigue stirred their curiosity and piqued their interest. It was decided that they would represent the villagers, to welcome the stranger but also to find out who he was. The minstrel looked up at the two young men and smiled.

"Greetings to you," he said as he looked directly at them.

"Welcome to our village," the young brothers expressed.Have you travelled far?"

"I have travelled far and wide in my life, but today only from the next village. What are your names," the Minstrel asked.

"I'm Simon and this is my brother Andrew. We have brought you some bread to go with your soup and some more firewood."

"Thank you. My name is Joshua, and after I've finished my meal, I will play you a song if you'd like."

They nodded and smiled and sat down on the log beside the Minstrel, and began asking him many questions about his travels. It was such a different life, so foreign to them but it stirred a secret lust for adventure neither had ever shared with each other. As the fresh bread and soup restored his energy and the sweet tea warmed him up, the Minstrel became more animated and more descriptive. 

Simon and Andrew were pulled right into the grand stories as they fed the fire with more and more sticks until it was blazing and snapping sparks high up into the sky. It was a spectacular blaze which threw off heat and seemed to melt away the inhibitions of winter's damp thaw. Pretty soon, their own closely held stories and yearnings were shared with their new friend and Joshua was intrigued to by their engaging ability to express themselves. He could feel Simon and Andrew's desire to learn the life of a wanderer and wondered if he had finally found the two he could mentor. It was a fleeting thought as he listened to their youthful exuberance and knew they were too young yet to take to the road to learn life as it unfolds. Maybe one day.... It was nice to feel a sense of brotherhood with his two new acquaintances and it left him feeling hopeful that perhaps his own stories would be passed on after he was unable to do so. 

As twilight beckoned, the Minstrel grabbed his fiddle, stood up beside the bonfire and began to play lively tunes that swirled in the engaging smoke, captured and broadcasted beyond the shoreline. He could feel himself move into a place where the music poured out of him like he was the vessel passing on ancient hymns. They came from some place holy and whole, and he loved visiting there. Pretty soon, the villagers, who had been watching the scene unfold had grabbed their coats and headed down to the shoreline to join the three in an impromptu celebration of all things good. 

It was the tonic they yearned for in the dead of winter when fatigue made their arms too heavy to wipe away those burdensome blues. Smiles all around as the music began to touch their cloaked spirits. For a moment in time, the sacred truth of their unmet dreams was replaced with a fullness of time, brushed by a tenderness only felt in the gathering of ancestry. Eternity seemed possible to hold in the palm of your hand. 

Simon and Andrew remained captivated by this man named Joshua whose magical gifts enlightened the villagers by resurrecting their light heartedness again. Secretly they longed to sneak off and join him but they knew the timing wasn't quite right. Maybe, they thought....maybe one day he will become their teacher. But, it wasn't the time to be contemplating beyond the grand sense of life affirmed happening in a circle around the fire. The Minstrel played on....sometimes he stopped and told a story about love and forgiveness.....sometimes he changed the tempo and played a lament that seemed soaked in the rain of tears usually lost in the faraway eyes of longing. And then before the mood altered permanently, Joshua would strike his bow with a high step piece and everyone would return to comraderie and lightness. The brothers felt a sense of freedom in their spirits like they had never felt before....it was a revelation to them.

Night grew darker.......and the folks in the village began to leave one by one until the Minstrel, Simon and Andrew were the only ones left. Up the hill from the shoreline, the windows in the homes began to light up with the soft glow of lanterns. Woodsmoke curled up from the chimneys. It looked so beautiful and it warmed Joshua's heart to know that everyone in the village were safely inside and on their way to possibly finding a more restful sleep than before. He too was tired. It had been a long day and he needed to seek refuge in his own slumber. One of the villagers offered a place by their woodstove and he planned to take them up on it after he packed up his bag and fiddle and doused the fire. 

Simon and Andrew had stayed behind to ask the Minstrel if they could go with him the next day....if they could learn how to be minstrels......but before they could find the words, Joshua looked up at them and smiled.

"One day," he said. "One day, I will come for you............when the time is right. I will teach you my stories, and help you with the hymns....I will offer you my knowledge and give you my blessing to carry you forward on my behalf. When the time is right. For now, help your village to continue to show love .....to be there for one another. Learn from your elders, and be kind to each other."  

Joshua continued, "You are more lucky than you know to have a brother to cherish and to share your dreams with. I hope you will always remain the best of friends. So, for now....I wish you a fond goodnight. I promise I will come for you when time is ready." 

With that, the Minstrel walked up the path to the house on the hill where he would rest for the night. Tomorrow, a new village.......and a chance to bring peace and love through his stories and his music. It is what he does....it is why he is who he is.....a holy troubadour named Joshua.

meaning when you least expect it..........

How often do you ask yourself........ "What does this mean?"  Or  "What can the meaning be?" Admittedly, I ask it too much.  In counselling sessions, of course, when I am making an attempt to clarify the issues a person has presented.  While reading mystery novels when I am seeking out cues to figure out who did the dirty deed.  When I'm watching a good movie and want to know more of the character plot.   In my own life, when something happens and I long to know........

Its the last action that trips me up too many times. If you let it the "whys" take over, finding the meaning of events/actions can turn into a full time navel gazing, inner soul searching job that can leave you paralzyed to move forward, stuck in some kind of metaphysical time warp and confused.   Unless you are a full fledged mystic, not only do you not have time to pursue the cause and effect of life's escapades, you don't even have the tools or the spiritual grounding to attempt it!   At least I don't.

True meaning........ is not tied to expectations.  It isn't a forward thinking process.  Though, I tend to create meaning before it even has time to blossom into knowledge which in turn feeds wisdom.  Meaning needs an open minded patience to let it rise above expectations.

On Christmas Eve, my kids and I attended the service at the same church I was baptised, confirmed and married in. An integral part of my early life, I had spent hours and hours as a teenager roaming the halls and hanging out with friends.  It was the first time I had taken them to this church as we live in a different city.  It was the first time I was attending the Christmas Eve service in 25 years, four days before my wedding day.

BIG meaning eh? FULL of meaning.  I was looking forward to being there........ taking part......... feeling the whole experience fully.  I felt cautious too over how it would affect me emotionally and how I would respond to it.  Though, I didn't spend much time thinking about who would be there that I may know from my past, I DID wonder how I was going to feel sitting in the pew as a single person, a single Mom home for the holidays.  I had preconceived expectations wrapped up in a shiny bow of big preconceived meaning.

Of course, it didn't pan out that way.  The tingliness never surfaced. The big emotional messagers were far away from my touch.  A few memories did pop up but they didn't leave me feeling overwhelmed.  Soft memories of time gone by.  I felt completely comfortable surrounded by the familiarity of this church. I didn't see a soul I recognized. However, that  sense of belonging touched me simply because of all the good memories I had tucked away.   The Christmas Eve service had no real heart tugging meaning to us because it was simply a re-telling of the story of the birth of Jesus done by the children in the congregation.  It was cute.  It was fluffy. We sang along as the proud parents rushed up to take photos of their little angels and shephards.  But, that was it.  A 1/2 hour assembly that felt like we had popped into a school play by mistake.

The big meaning I had expected evaporated into a good laugh at my own imaginative expectations.  I wasn't disappointed.  Instead, I left Port Nelson United Church with a good lesson laughing at my son who did his very best to sing off key in order to make his sister and I lose our composure during the assembly. Instead, I left realizing AGAIN that I do not control any meaningful outcome BEFORE it occurs.  Instead, I left feeling like I had experienced a light hearted moment with my two "growing up" children.

It is now the end of March and that moment has stuck with me.  This big lesson from a half hour of attending  a church service on Christmas Eve...... the lesson of leaving "meaning" to work itself out rather than trying to control an outcome (like I have that superpower) continues to linger.  Meaning truly needs an open minded patience to let it rise above expectations.  

There have been many big and small life events since then when I  have found myself pondering "the whys" before they have had a chance to ferment.  All good opportunities to catch these thoughts in a mind net labelled........ 

Let it become........ 

You may know one day....or not.

It's not about you.... 

What will be.......

Give it up to God....

You may never know.....

It's life unfolding.....

Go with it...........

Meaning brings lessons when you least expect them...... 

 

a little rambling before we spring ahead.........

It used to be that the words flew out of my fingertips faster than a lightflicker. Now, if I am able to capture a whisper of a thought, I'm lucky.  Has my muse shrivelled down to a mere facebook status update?  Has it flown the coop and turned itself into a fainting Twitter tweet?  It seems so.  But, I think it has just taken a very long hibernation........ one that  simply could not be jousted, jiggled, or jibberjabbed awake.  My muse went dormant for its own unexplainable reasons.  

I know my reasons.......... I let it slip.  I let the time that I had dedicated to writing slip into the vortex of lost opportunities.  My meanderings were left unharnessed.  My wanderings unwritten. Then, the meanderings and wanderings grew as I grew farther away from this beloved blog space.  They grew and grew and grew like choking weeds............ so big and lush that I didn't know (still don't) how to tame them enough to capture them creatively.  

So, I have decided to start to chew on them. Those darn wordy weeds.  As a way to reflect.  As a tact to understand all that I have seen, heard, felt, experienced this winter.  This year actually.  I've also tried to figure out what has truly stopped the outpouring of writing I so enjoyed.  Are the feelings too sharp?  Are the events too many?  

Let's start the flow............ and see where it leads........... unleashed masticating. I promise I won't let anything spit out at you! 

A big lesson I've learned this year is what it is like to feel the intensity of loneliness.  As someone who has the blessing of having many caring people in my life, and as a person who is surrounded by others day in and out in my work, it seemed to me unfathomable that I would ever feel so lonely.  Yet, I found myself getting in my car on Friday after work many times feeling a sense of foreboding loneliness that literally knocked me flat.  Flat energy, flattened ideas, BIG unrelenting tears ....and a lack of confidence to do anything but sit it out.  Even when I was invited to attend an event, go to a friend's house, go have a glass of wine with a friend, try yoga, go drumming, attend church........ ANYTHING.......... I couldn't push myself up and out the door.  Even though in my head it would have been the best thing to do......... I couldn't do it.  Instead, I wallowed in all the anxious things that overwhelmed me rather than put myself in a situation that had the potential losing control over my very raw emotions.  

Loneliness is the Master of depression.  Together, they are the S&M of mind fucking. 

Having admitted that, I also have to admit that I frigging earned it. Wave upon wave of grey sky storms came  and went......... all of which I had no control over, except to respond and help my little family respond when I could. Many days, it left me running for cover.  To sit in the loneliness. Silent.  Like millions of others.  As much as I felt sorry for the lonely people out there, I felt a kinship too.  It is a strange planet to visit. Lonely Planet.  But, I believe, and did so as I experienced arching my back into it, that it was my turn to feel it, breathe it, live it..... knowing full well that it would eventually be conquered by new light.  With help. 

In the meantime, there was no praying.  It was not in me. I didn't attend church services. I didn't complete any tasks around the house except if watching all of the Storage Wars episodes a task then I completed something.  Stillness didn't visit, though I sat quietly.  It was more like a chaotic rumbling inside that played games in my head.  Drama without end.  Tears that seemed eternal.  I could not concentrate except when I really had to in my job as a counsellor. I put ALL my focus on counselling.  As much as I starred in the role of Wounded Healer, I did it well!   Then, when I came home, I was drained.  Completely.  I just couldn't fuel up fast enough.  Christmas was a blur.  I was too exhausted to fully take part, though I did the best I could.  Then, I crashed.  For a week and looked after myself. 

Loneliness teaches you patience in a twisted manner.  Loneliness teaches you to dig deep inside for that chord of hope.  Loneliness tests your beliefs while manipulating your thoughts.  It introduces you to a whole world captured in a liminal purgatory......... just before dawn. Loneliness is an all encompassing, wind whistling, foul mouthed apparition that takes up a lot of room in and around you. 

I pushed back and at times sat back.  Every week, I forced myself to attend a guided meditation, Since I couldn't seem to meditate on my own, this helped me on so many levels........ it has become a place of safe processing, of re-learning how to breathe, how to develop self discipline, of letting go of some of those emotions caught in my gut and in my muscles.  It helped.  It carries on.   Talk therapy helped too.  With a person whom I admire and trust.  No judgement............. just a chance to purge my unsolicited thoughts and feelings........... a way to regain my zip.  

A turning point came just before Christmas when life's events and worries were peaking............. I was in such a state that my therapist sat me on the floor.  She sat down behind me and put her back to me.  Then she told me to "take her energy........."  What a gift!!!   I sat there for a long time just breathing....... catching my breath.......... trying to rid myself of the loneliness that had settled in my heart.   It was the best gift I received last Christmas.   Another person's energy when I needed it the most.  When the session was just about over, she said to me............ "when you pull away from me, inhale deeply.  Take it all......."  So, I did.  With gratitude.  I saw her at the grocery store a couple of days later....... still feeling the renewed energy she had gifted to me and strolled right up to her and gave her a hug in the check out line. 

One day in February, I woke up and things had subsided.  Little by little, ideas began to push thru the winter frost.  Pent up energy knocked on the door. Out of the blue,  I had a call from an acquaintance who offers yoga classes.  I had hoped to sign up a full year ago and it never worked out.  She asked me if I would be interested to start right away.  I said yes as I contemplated on how nothing is really "out of the blue." 

Yoga.  I don't know why I had never tried this before.  But, as I stretched and followed her directions on that first night, I felt like it was a natural process I had a kinship to.  Someone asked me what kind of Yoga it was.......... I answered "good Yoga".......  I have no idea.  Like my way of worshipping and of learning about my faith, it has no category.  It is just good for me.  I guess.  This Yoga fits me.  

At the end of the first session, where I was taught to massage my limbs and feet, as I learned the basics of stretching and moving, it ended with a quiet meditative comforting moment of laying on a mat in front of a burning woodstove.  As I laid there with a sense of peace I hadn't felt in over a year, I realized that it was the first time I had felt connected to my body. My head and heart was reconnecting to this body of mine that had  betrayed me last year......... that went through three surgeries, a bunch of radiation, and then a stomach bloating after my appendix was removed that went on and on and on for months due to stress.  

This body I was so angry with began to cooperate with my head and heart.  The first time.  I also realize that my breast, which is intact and only has a small scar had stopped radiating heat.  It had been a whole year since radiation.......... since I laid in that same pose on an altar in the hospital.    It all came flooding back to me. 

Tears silently slipped down the sides of my face........ cleansing and rebirth had begun.  The loneliness, which I had originally assumed was caused by not having a partner/lover in my life.......... being alone in this world with too many overwhelming tasks to attend to did not formulate from those reasons. It had to do with the inside of me.   It was because I had lost confidence in my body working properly.  I had disconnected from my self.  Lost my belief that I was beautiful.  Lost my belief that I was worthy and loved. 

Once it started lifting, I could feel myself hitting my stride again.  I'm more clear headed.  I'm ready to tackle the outside world more often.  I'm ready to lead others through meditation, through their own process of healing.  I'm back at church attending services I want to be a part of.  Ideas are not so wieldly.  Instead, they are unravelling from the weeds so I can pluck them out readily.   

Loneliness may be a place in our psyche where our personal narrative becomes entangled in missed opportunities.  It may be a state of mind that dances with despair.  But, it is also a place where creativity, new strength and new positive narratives percolate.  To know it doesn't last allows one to sit in it for a while..... and wonder........... what is it all about?  

As I write this, we are changing the clocks............ springing forward into the upside of old man winter.  Its a good time to empty ourselves of that wind whistling lonely to leave a deep pocket to be replenished with love  and the desire to plant a new garden. 

I'm ready to spring forward ................ are you? 

  

Flight..........

As usual, I was awake this morning before the light emerged over the horizon.  I love that time of day for so many reasons, all of which unfold from a wakening stretch, a new breath, a re-emergence of sight and sound.  Intuitive sounds.  Familiar surroundings.  A friendly stirring of security gravitating from the grounding of my roots.  My senses, accompanied by new day realization lead me to wonder..... "What will become?"

While the kettle revved up,  I stood by my living room window to look out at the view I am blessed to call my own. At first, I could barely catch a glimpse.  Then, the sky began to lighten and a sliver of dawn peaked up over the curtain as the liminal transition evolved.  In front of me.......gentle sloping farmland, barns and homes under fading streetlights; evergreenery and leafless maples, birch, oak..... snow-nestled limbs and branches; and the river.  Oh, the river..... flowing constantly under the film of ice.  

Hello valley.  Good morning river.........

I can't find the words to describe the impact the Saint John river has had on me over the years I've lived in this home. Especially during the most recent years when I have been stuck in emotional ruts up to my chinney chin chin!  Reassuring, challenging my thinking......... demanding that I stop and look and listen to what is happening inside me. Embracing. Inviting me to look outward to wonder what is happening inside others. It makes me feel like I'm not alone, even at the loneliest dips.  It ties me to a community, to a sense of continuity especially on days when nothing seemed to connect.  It invites me to belong to a bigger world beyond ........ beyond.  It flows east ......... like my thoughts of becoming ....... towards the bed where the sun sleeps and rises again.  Rise again.  And again.  I wonder.  How it heals.  

This morning, my neighbourhood woke up to a wonderland of winter's finest.  40 centimetres of snow fell in one day.  All that was left was the wind tunnelling down the river like logs in a chute. Howling with such brutal strength reminding with every menacing whistle, it's power was serious enough to knock out ours.  It was a stark contradiction to the tranquil vista in front of me.  Off to the right, birds began to emerge from the distance.  Jet black...... poking through the openings in the sky.  Dozens and dozens, all the same colour dispersing into the howling windy gusts.  Gymnastic tumblers with wings!  

The "dawn and dusk" birds, who migrate on the same flight path every day from the University in town to somewhere up river and back again, were my entertainment as I welcomed a new becoming.  I hadn't noticed them recently.  My attention always seemed to be elsewhere.  But, there they were again.  I stood in awe as they pitched and plummeted in all directions, as they fought to find sleeves of windpockets to move forward  to their eventual destination.....be-yonder.   

My first impression of being entertained by them quickly morphed into recognizing the struggle they were exhibiting as they defied the elements that pummelled their attempts to proceed.  Somehow, these little black birds managed.  Despite the stormy odds, they were succeeding.  

How?  I watched more closely.  

Up and down they soared.  They flew in sideway zigzags with no planned pattern or flock to help them. Every bird was on their own to figure out how to take on the wind, how to tackle the journey.  The idea of staying put rather than taking flight was not a consideration.  Individually, they fought back with surges of energy when the timing was right, and then would tap into a surrendering glide when the gale opened up like a slide. One wing flap at a time.........  It must've been so exhausting!  

On a calm day, these birds fly in scores of dozens, like a crowd emerging from a subway exit during rush hour.  Today, there was no mirage of solidarity.  Despite what it looked like, however, I believe they instinctively garnered motivation from one another to make headway.  Just like humans.  We may feel like we are alone against life's elements.  We are alone in the ultimate struggles........ no one can do it for us.  But, we too instinctively gain strength to claw forward by the people in our lives and by the stories we hear of others.  

I have flown through so many storms this year.  Some larger than others.  For a period of time, it felt like a storm a week.  It took its toll on my energy and my health.  There were days when exhaustion would hit me like a wall of wind and I couldn't find one of those windpockets to slip into.  On the most trying days, I went silent.  My writing dried up.  I was afraid to write because I didn't know how to catch the words as they scattered in sideway zigzags.   There were too many of them, all tied to too many stories.  I couldn't sit still. I couldn't settle down.  Too much drama. So much that it peaked at embarrassing levels and depleted my resources.   Every time I thought the storm was over, another one landed overhead.  For months and months. 

This morning, a new thought emerged as I watched the birds.  The year is over.  A new one is about to begin.  I have reached a destination despite the obstacles, in spite of myself!!!  Humour intact.  Health restored. A roof over my head.  Two amazing kids who have had their fair share of shocks and storms this year as well.  Enough radiation to painfully peel the skin off my breast and to leave a constant warmth as a reminder.  Appendix-free. Loved. An unpredicted heartbreak that left me on my knees with a continuing deeply felt lesson on loneliness. Confidence drained. Confidence renewed.  Divorced with a few new scars on the inside and outside.  Free. 

New friendships kindled.  Old friendships rekindled.  Phenomenal conversations about love, loss, yearnings, dreams, commonalities, ideas, emotions, fears, truths and lies.  Spirit renewed.  Faith challenged.  Loneliness understood.  Learning to let go of the controls........ Trusting others to help me heal and re-heal.  

I pushed through........... with much help.  On my own.  Like a blackbird.  Wings ready to take flight no matter what is in store.  

Welcome 2013.  Let it unfold in the glory of becoming!

recognizing, remembering.........

Lost notes

muffled by wayward apparitions

seep out of the stormfront

weeping their dreary sound

onto loosened images

etched in shades of grey

carpeting a lonely landscape

where melancholy lingers. 

The flowers of the forest play on.

Fallen bodies

clothed in camoflauged discomfort

loom over clay remnants

laying on an abandoned field 

where fog blurs reality into images 

of inescapable battles

shaken by confusion and chaos

blaring painful moans into the silence

where death preys.

Good friends never come back.

Last notes 

strike chords of far away sorrow

meshed with poignant passiongs

echoing on the edge of fog fed light
forever lost in the blues 

where silence renders memories 

where life once harboured hope.

The world waits for the sun to rise out of the grey draped hills

Until then.....we will recognize 

For whom the bell tolls.

For whom the pipes whine,

For whom the hymns are sung 

and pray for peace, 
heart and soul. 

Emerging from Ashes

We really shouldn't try to catch a shooting  star.  They are meant to be admired with a quiet awe rather than to be touched by needy hands.  As they freely careen across the darkest night skies, shooting stars carry the hope and sorrows of broken hearts to a place beyond.  Where wishes are restored.  Where time blends with the eternal.  To a place beyond our ruffled existence.   To the edges of Heaven. 

Never meant to be touched by our skin, they somehow still manage to tantalize our spirit with a light we often forget that dwells inside our bodies.  When I see one amongst the breath of the other stars, burdens lift. I feel lighter.  A smile forms along with a quiet peace inside........as I am reminded of the importance of being still in order to see, of being an open vessel in order to catch its essence.   

Holy moments remind us to breathe in the hopeful aspirations of God's love. 

As much as we would like to, we can't put a sunrise into a basket for ongoing observation.  Its just not so.  Even a photo can't capture its depth of radiance, nor its dawning performance.  Sunrises are meant to be admired with a quiet awe rather than to be touched by human hands.  As the sun slips up above the horizon, its colourful rays preceding its round peak,  it forces us to pay attention.  It clears the web of worry and distraught we wrestled with the night before.   

The magnificence of the sunrise blesses us with fresh awareness and a cleansed spirit..... two very important components of feeling those effervescent possibilities again.  Even for a moment.  No matter how thick the air of desperation is around me, when I see the glory of a sunrise, I can feel the air fill with vitality.  From the ground up, I am filled with promise.  

Holy moments remind us to breathe in the hopeful aspirations of God's love.  

You can't sculpt new words out of cold ashes. Words are kindling that feeds the fire.  No amount of spit or tears can regenerate what had been expressed and tossed on the flames.  Ashes are the story remnants of past accomplishments, failures, marriages, lost love, good health, ancestral connections, shared harvests, successes.  Grief from all changes.  Good and bad. Once a thriving furnace fed by words and feelings, vital as it sent spark-tigers up the flue, a fire loses its breath, only to leave grey flakes of what has been. 

 What can come out of trying to hold ashes in our hands?   Dirty hands?  

Yet, our traditions honour ash. Mixed with loam, sifted into fertile soil, ashes  regenerate thought and life.  Ash reminds us of where we came from, who we are, where we will be.  If that is so, then perhaps ashes are more monumental, more beautiful, more miraculous than shooting stars or sunrises .......... Perhaps ashes are the key ingredient in the emergence of new sculptures, new life, new directions?

Once stirred, ashes release an enduring faith.  And isn't hope simply faith holding out its hands to us when its dark?   

Hmmmmm............. Maybe holding ashes in our hands is the closest we will ever be to touching God's Hand?  Maybe holding them as we find that stillness and light inside us is the most holy?  Beyond the extraordinary-ness of sunrises, shooting stars........... of ALL the beauty around us, ashes place us on the edges of Heaven.  

Amongst the stars....... surrounded by new words. 

Holy moments remind us to breathe in the hopeful aspirations of God's love. 

Spontaneity revealed......

You can't schedule a "random act of kindness."  It makes no sense. There's no randomness in that act! You can't sketch out a day of creating, teaching, or facilitating a business meeting and expect it to unfold exactly how you envision it.  It just doesn't happen that way.  Parties, events, vacations, day trips, appointments, first dates, all dates, even chores around the house...... they can all be planned right down to the micro minutae.  We all know however, that nothing unfolds as you think it will.  Why?  Because there is a little Pixie named Spontaneity that LOVES to wink, blink and paplink on life with giggling abandon!  You never know when she will make an appearance.  

Spontaneity is the Id jigging on our plans. Makes me smile just thinking about it!  It is the spoon that stirs the cinammon into the bland batter.  It is the one note which rises up above the others that takes a song to the altar. Spontaneity is the scalliwag blush determined to splash onto a beige landscape with colourful love.... the moxie in the body wiggle........  the feisty spirit in our personality ..... the starry night twinkle in our eyes!  Like the heat from soulmate intimacy, it is the passion that levitates from our footprints.  

Spontaneity is the human being divinely inspired.  It's source is joy and love.... gladness and kindness.

Most of the time.......

 There is a dark side to this little personified Pixie whose main goal is to bring a sense of surprise goodness.  A kablink instead of a paplink!  Spontaneity with a poison dart is nasty. We know it when it strikes.  It feels like a slap or a re-piercing of a wound.  Usually it is the ammo in a bully's arsenal and it arrives unannounced.  Most forms of abuse are a spontaneous action thrusted out into the face of another. Impulsive, unthinking, driven by an ignited passion fueled by kerosene.   It's source is anger and fear .... low self esteem and old triggers.   

Sometimes, you don't know what has "hit or stung" you until you take a step back from the situation, it is so quick to lash out.   By then, the damage is done.  Those wounds fester, especially if the spontaneous combustion of another's actions are perpetuated.  Over and over......... Bullies like to hit the same target.  Target practise with spontaneity. Aggression with Spite.  Once we have felt it from someone, we begin to expect it to happen again.  Nervousness looms, while attempting to sidestep the landmines.  

Dark spontaneity is the human being deviously inspired.  

On the other hand, Pixie spontaneity, the kind that pecks you on the cheek and leaves a stain of lipstick, are like separate little gifts.  One offers! 

Last Sunday, we heard........ "Some people give a lot of love and some people give a small amount of love.  How much love do you give out?"  This part of the sermon has stayed with me this week, as I thought about it.  I thought of the people I encounter who don't have the capacity for one reason or another to give much love. Why?  Discomfort, personal wounds, defensiveness...... a tightly guarded heart.... could this be why?  What about the people who spontaneously dole out a whole lotta of love?  Are they more confident?  More comfortable in their own skin?  Or are they very needy of love themselves and they give it away too impulsively?  

If all of our actions are our best attempt at fulfilling a personal need (Survival, Love and Belonging, Control/Empowerment, Freedom, Fun) what needs are people who give a lot of love fulfilling?  What needs are people who give a small amount of love fulfilling?  I guess the key thing to remember when it comes to giving away big amounts of love is the need to keep a little love for ourselves.  If we give it all away, we deplete ourselves of heartsongs.   

Here's a thought....... maybe the ones who have little to give, or who veer more towards spiteful spontaneous actions need more big love offered to them?  Maybe they are depleted and don't know how to love themselves. 

Here's another thought........... Because Pixie spontaneity is impulsively offered, we do it without thinking beyond the action.  Unconditional fairy dustings of love.  Perhaps this is one way God helps us give of ourselves with no expectations of fulfilling any need?  A random offering......... a surprise.............. a smile ........ kindness with no strings attached ..... spontaneously divine.........   

Just remember "above all else, guard your heart, for everything flows from it........." (Proverbs 4:23)  This is the way to being a good Pixie. :)

May your day have an unpredictable Pixie wink to it...........