Saturday, October 30, 2010


Early morning peace in a place called Tatamagouche.  I don't know the history of the name but I like how it sounds when I say it aloud.  I'm attending a weekend writing, walking and prayer workshop with 13 others..... something I've looked forward to since I was told about it last summer. 

The setting is beautiful....located where two rivers meet, close to the Northumberland Strait in Nova Scotia.  The grounds are covered in mature trees, still spectacularly shades in the deep colours of late fall.  Rusty oranges, yellows, with a few flaming red burning bushes that catch the eye.  Last night, my friend and I stood on this veranda on the second floor of the old house that has been transformed into a Bed and Breakfast and watched twilight filter through the trees and reflect on the calm water, a blending of russet and blues.... The light exquisitely touched the water surface and the treeline, creating a view that seemed like a live Turner painting.  We stood inside the canvas of his imagination.

I dont know what the next two days will bring.  I am open.......... open to the opportunities of connecting with  new people..... open to the silence and serenity just laying in wait for me to step into .... open to whatever my imagination explores  ..... open to being in the moment.  Stories and vignettes seem to be seeping out of me these days.  I think I'm in an emotional place to be able to capture some of them too.  Or not.  I have no expectations for this weekend except to BE.

I do have a dream though...... one that has been with me for many many years.  This dream I hope will eventually become a reality and step by little step I think I am moving towards it.  Funny, its been the demise of my life partnership that may have kickstarted the movement more than any other event.  Because it has foisted me into a raw reflecting place.... one that sometimes kicks me in the gut with its awareness, I have opened my eyes, sought out people to discuss and process my ideas and dreams with, looked around through a different lens.  

My dream?  To write, to facilitate workshops, to host groups and other seekers.  In my mind, I see myself living out loud, and breathing solace in a rambling old farmhouse.  I want to turn it into a place where people can relax, stretch and create and reflect.   I want to promote gatherings, interactions, sacred spaces, sense of belonging comfort.........sparks and embers......... tea always steeping....... ideas and feelings shared all happening under the roof.  Winter nights around the fireplace.  Summer nights on the veranda.

Fire, water, bread and wine for sharing, breathing spaces, walking places.... tidal breezes, firm ground.  Elemental nourishment for any pilgrim in the middle of a wander....... to dream, reflect, plan, write, create, heal, learn, relax, read....   My dream....... an open door Inn that is warm and inviting. 

This morning, before anyone else was up and around, I walked the dark path from my room in the old house to the centre, peace greeted me with renewed thoughts of my dream and a wide eyed recognition that I am in a setting, surrounded by the voices of past and present..... beckoning me to join them. 

Tatamagouche..... I like how it sounds when I say it aloud.  Perhaps it's meaning is "home."  It feels that way to me.  Who knows, maybe it will eventually be the setting of my dream?  Not yet.  Not now..... but I definitely have found a place I want to explore more deeply......

Off to join the gathering................ breakfast is on and my tea needs topped up and the morning voices behind me sound inviting....


JP/deb said...

yes, soak up all the goodness of possibility!

TheMuddledMarketPlace said...

I thnk that I am right in saying that the meaning of your place name is all about when the waters meet, their meeting.
I lived in a village in Wales for a while where the meaning was the same.
A confluence.

I used to enjoy sitting down near where ( in our case) three rivers joined and at that place of joining there was total chaos. Smashes of water hurling up into the air as the high banks forced the gallons upon gallons up against the high walls. But within a very short while of the buffetting streams working out what was going where and how had all calmed down again.
The river flowed on steadily.