meaning....?

Blue on blue.

Letters spelling affirmation. 

High above the littered streetscape

Where homeless hearts in tattered disrepair 

Hand clap to enhance blood flow

To seek warmth.

Bravo!  You've survived another day.

Bravo!  Another coin drops into a hat....

Bold applause

Remember to clap.

Remember to pat yourself on the back.

For what?  

For surrendering spare change with false pride?

Perhaps these letters sneer in sarcasm 

Exclaiming the real truth. 

We can do better.

Bravo indeed.

This week's Photo theme is Letters.  Signs, signs everywhere signs.....  For more shots of the words that remind, rekindle, remark and sell, sell, sell ....... check out Carmi's place right HERE! 

swimming in your own stare....

Nobody, absolutely nobody gets out of this life without accumulating a series of personal emotional wounds.  Chances are, nobody gets out of this life without being the one who wounds another.  Even the kindest person trips up somewhere along the line.  Well, maybe Mother Theresa didn't wound anybody. 

Sometimes we just have to learn how to step beyond those debilitating feelings that make you double over in vulnerability.  Its tempting to remain stuck in sadness, anger, hurt, shame and/or jealousy because they have a tendancy to be SO big that they flood our thinking and our actions.  They leave you sitting on the sidelines swimming in your own stare, gazing without focus.....walking in circles, believing you belong there.  That's the temptation.....to grab hold of these devilish emotions and allow them to label you....

The offended one.

The betrayed one.

The rejected one.

The discarded one.

The abandoned one. 

 Look at all the labels one can choose from!!! 

Though it's important to look at the dark side of our feelings, to reflect upon the events which have been the culprit of the wounds, there comes a time when you have to step over them, leave them behind and move on.  Easier said than done....especially if you sink into a pit of self loathing introversion.  Swimming in your own stare.  This is what sinks you.  This is what fuels the apathy and strips you of any level headed reasoning.  

When you are going through a painful experience, its easy to hide away.  In fact, I think its the natural response........ FLIGHT from the pain. But, the pain follows.  The labels stick like humidity to skin. Wounded vulnerability drains you of energy.  So how do you pull yourself out of the bleeding?  

BLINK!  

Change your swim stroke! 

Stop staring at the same picture.

Ask for help........a little help from your friends.  :)

Surround yourself with the loving care of others.

Change your thinking with activity even if you are exhausted.

Write it out............ which is what I'm doing right now......

Do something you enjoy doing.  

Be kind to yourself.

Talk to God.

Sit still and face the wind and listen to His Spirit all around you........

Then, go out and do something for someone else.  Trust that your wounds will remained bandaged so you can be there fully for someone else. 

This morning, as I was having breakfast with a friend at the market, an angel who knows my situation and  who happened to be waitressing, leaned down and whispered in my ear that the woman who has recently moved to town and has played a major role in the demise of my marriage, and the break up of two families was in line to be seated. This angel, who calls everyone honey, told me that she loved me and didn't want to see me hurt.  

A rush of anxiety flooded me........ the wounds opened up in my gut.  I hugged my friend, thanked my angel and took flight!  By the time I reached my car, I was a shaking mess....upset that I reacted that way, and upset that someone's presence would make me feel like throwing up.  More than anything I was upset over the realization that I could feel the DEPTH of hurt I thought I had left behind.  It felt like all of what I have done to heal went right out the window in one caught breath. 

I really thought I had stepped over the wounds.  I guess not.  My bravery was too thin skinned to remain there with my head held high.  All day, I've been a mess.  My stomach was in knots.  My tears kept flowing.  Until NOW. Ever since I started writing this post, I could feel my strength and confidence return.  I DO know how to help heal the wounds..... it just takes more time than I had thought. 

It's been a wake up call.  It's also been an opportunity to reframe and remember all the things I HAVE done since March that have added to a deepening faith, to a sense of freedom and relief,  to a recognition that there was an emotional detachment in my marriage for a very long time.  More importantly, this jolt to my senses has informed me that my heart still needs mending....  Oh, and to give thanks to the angels in my life!  They are plentiful and everywhere!  I AM being looked after by the universe. 

I am humbled by the sacredness of this journey...... wounds bless and break.  They also teach me and feed me bread for the journey.  As a student of living out loud?  I will never remain on any sideline for long.....just long enough to change the gauze and the gaze!!  I am not swimming in my own stare any longer today. 

ps...... Wow, writing does heal!!!!  Now, I wish I had stayed long enough to get a glimpse of this woman.  I still don't know what she looks like!! Next time. Next time.

blue light

Service....... 

It's all about the journey to an awareness of our gifts.  Its all about being open to sharing them.  Whatever the venue.  When we give, we receive more in return.  Sometimes what we end up receiving is new awareness of how we are being perceived, both negatively and positively.  Sometimes, there is a clear indication that our gifts are not welcome.....not wanted.  Sometimes they are embraced by the receiver with gratitude.  It's a bit of a crapshoot because all you can do is give.  Your gifts.  Be who you are.  Say how you feel.  Share kindness.  Be a good friend.  Listen and learn. You have no control really over how the other person will react, respond, receive.  You can choose only how you give and what you give out.

The key is trying to find the right venue, because if you're stuck in a place where wings are clipped and free spirits are not welcome nor understood, gifts collect dust in the back corner of the pantry. 

Meaning.......... Our lives are a journey of gathering awareness while letting go of our egos.  What I may want, what I hunger for is more than likely driven by obsessed ambition.  And we all know that when our vision is clouded over by salacious needs, we lose our footing.  We lose our way because our Spirit disconnects from our ego driven actions.  It doesn't want any part of it. 

Luckily our true Spirit...... like God is patient.  It knows that most of us humans are slow on the uptake.  WE seemed to need several toe stubbing, head slamming, body jolting, heart stabbing life events to finally realize that our lives are in good Hands if we allow our own to be open to give and to receive.  

So, how does one marry the two?  Service and Meaning? God knows.

Hey God!  You wanna shine a little more blue light on me?  Just a little more of that meaning-full blue light?  I promise I will sit still more often this month.......I have a feeling that's what you would like me to do.  To stop, look and listen........ with an open heart and a pair of open hands.  It's time to seek out answers to just exactly what venue would I fit in to be able to be of good service....where is this place that will allow me to offer up my gifts?  It continues to be a mystery.  My destiny is still behind a curtain.

If anyone is looking for me this month?  I'll be close to some body of water.  Light catches in blue down by the water.  And it is blue light that I am seeking..........

the hole in the fence......

There is a story about a sheep who lived within a flock.  All day long, all he could hear was bleat, bleat, bleat as they all went about doing the same things over and over again.  Restless to break out of this fenced in existence of predictability, one that was strife with rules and known expectations, he longed to runaway.  No longer did he see the other sheep as individuals with unique personalities.  They all blended in together, faceless and wholly.  It was like he became blind to their gifts.  

He was also numb to their desire to connect with him through love.  Their bleats began to mean nothing.  Bit by bit, the lens he was looking through painted a distant picture of all of them grazing together on the other side of the field.  In his tiny brain, he interpreted this view as rejection.  They had rejected him, rather than the reality of the situation.  He had rejected them. But, it was too late.  He began to believe that he was a misfit.  He didn't fit within the flock.  His fenced in area did not feel like Home.  In turn, as a way to protect himself, he started to question everything he had been taught, and dismissed it all as mere fluff. 

One day, as he wandered around the perimeter feeling sorry for himself, he found a hole in the fence.  He climbed through it and found himself surrounded by new fields to explore.  For the first time in his life, he was able to experience open spaces independent of the flock and he made the best of his newly found freedom.  For a while the sheep felt such exhilaration while he took advantage of living outside of the fence.  He romped when he wanted to, slept when he wanted to, ate when he wanted to.  Never again, he thought, will I have to justify my actions, nor my thoughts.  I can believe what I want to, live how I want to and not be questioned by a bunch of bleating idiots.

Day turned into night...... night turned into day........ time passed, and he continued to enjoy himself.   However, he realized that he had no one to share it with.  He had no one to talk to about it.  This began to weigh heavily on him.  For as much as he loved his independence, he also felt the unease of not being connected to his flock.  His sense of belonging dried up along with the sense of being loved.  Loneliness crept in especially at night, when he realized that his total freedom did not include any sense of home.  Home, where he was loved and cared for.  Home, where he was a member. 

Though he felt like he needed all of those things.......... freedom, love, belonging, fun his new life was not conducive to this.  It made him cry.... big sheepy tears.  

It also took his appetite away.  He didn't have the energy to eat or to take care of himself.  Lethargy coursed through his body and soon he felt too weak to enjoy his freedom.  Given this was all that he had been focused on for so long....... given that this was his dream, the reality of his situation and of his unrelenting need to share his new experiences with others made him feel like such a failure.  He turned his back on his flock, dismissed them as useless bleaters and now he was alone and slowly dying. What he wanted for himself for so long dried up in a mushroom cloud full of doubt and despair.  With shame from failure in his heart, he lay down under a large maple tree and gave up.

Little did the sheep know, but his flock had not stopped caring.  Even though he made it perfectly clear how he felt, they worried about him, and prayed for his return.  The Shepherd too hadn't forgotten about him either and whenever he could, he went searching for his lost little one.  On the day the sheep lay down in surrender, the Shepherd caught sight of him just in time.  

Shocked by how thin and scruffy his little one looked, the Shephard's heart felt such pain and relief at the same time.  Quietly, he approached the sleeping sheep and slipped his strong arms under his shaggy coat.  He lifted the sheep up into his arms, all the while whispering to him how much he had been missed and how much he was loved.  From the distance of deep slumber, the little sheep opened his eyes and looked into the eyes of the man who had for so long looked after him.  A full smile melted the sheep's worn out body as he slipped into the most relaxing sleep he had ever known.

When they returned to the fenced in area, the flock rushed over with relief to tend to their lost one.  For days, they looked after him....... made sure he had food and water, but more importantly made sure to let him know how much he was missed.... how much he was loved.  In no time the adventurous sheep gained his strength back.  He was able to reflect on his travels and on what he had learned.  His appreciation for his fellow sheep grew and grew as he realized how deeply he had missed them......  how he had missed being a member of a flock.  

What amazed the once restless Sheep was the fact that they had always accepted him for who he was, even when he had dismissed them as unknowing and stupid.   They knew he needed to travel beyond the fence to learn for himself some of life's biggest lessons.  So did the Shepherd.  For he was the one who cut the hole in the fence in the first place.  And he is the one who ensures the hole remains to this day. 

___________________________________________________

There is a stubbornness inherent in our desire for independence.  It provides nourishment to push through the burdensome trappings of all those rules which we are taught to obey..... to abide by.  It blinds us too and gives us false approval and security to negate what is proper behaviour.  Our determination to step outside of the lessons we are taught, the values and beliefs we are fed, the "life" we are supposed to lead, moves us to a place where we become irresponsible in the eyes of the ones who love us unconditionally.  Do we all experience this in our life journey?  Can it be any other way?  

Its not that we want to hurt others.  Its just that we need to figure it out for ourselves.  So, we drift. We wander both internally and externally.  We question everything.  We attempt to fulfill our fantasies.  We take risks while trying not to see the consequences.  We act like children........ emotionally heightened by our stubborn desire to learn about life and faith and right and wrong in our own way.  We become selfishly distant, obsessed by our own ego driven needs as we taste as much elixir as we can consume.  

It can last a long, long time.  Running away can even last a lifetime if we continue to avoid rest, and reflection.  If we become addicted to the dark side of freedom, we never lift our heads up to open our eyes to see the destruction, or to recognize the lessons we had originally forged out to learn.  On our own.  In a blaze of stubborn determination.  Lost and never found. Illusions are enticing bedfellows.

And when life doesn't go as we had expected it to, or we bang up against nasty stormfronts and personal failure what do we do?  We feel pain.  Automatically we blame God.  We act out in anger and turn our energy outward with fists in the air.  We stomp our feet and shout out loud..... Unfair!  How can I believe in You who would let me down, make me suffer, let me runaway?  

Amazing how quickly we forget the greatest gift God gave us..... free will.... the autonomy to choose how we live within freedom.   God cut the hole in the fence to begin with, and it remains to this day. 

So, what does all this mean?  I'm still chewing on the Parable of the Prodigal Son.  And I may continue until all the sheep come home.  :)

summoning up an honest reflection.

Whatever happens to me in life, I try to hold onto the belief that despite the messy complications and uncomfortable madness littering the way, there is potential for sacred lessons to settle my soul.  All it takes is summoning up  the courage to take that first step, right?  

Sometimes I think I miss the lessons because I'm looking the other way, or I've detached from all that is happening around me.  It's not that I don't care.  It's more because I'm not ready, or I don't feel like I can handle coming face to face with the lessons.  Like every single human being, it comes down to protecting myself from harsh realities, exacerbated by a stubborn refusal to take any responsibility for the messes.

It's not my fault.  I didn't do anything wrong......... Don't blame me. Wow, we're quick to pass the buck aren't we??

New learning means change.  Sometimes change is not a welcome visitor because it has the capacity to hurt deeply.  Sometimes change is downright frightening.  It can foist me into unknown territory without the armour used to protect myself from owning up to what I have added to the messy complications. What cements my feet in hazy hesitation is the fear that I won't be accepted after I have apologized. I mean, what happens when I ask for forgiveness, but it isn't received?  What then?  Just the thought of it makes me feel bare.

I've been revisiting the Parable of the Prodigal Son.  The part in the story when the youngest son has hit rock bottom after losing all of his inheritance and belongings through selfish acts is where I'm stumbling. It irritates me.  I don't quite believe how smoothly it is all resolved.  The story is so short that it just doesn't feel like he's suffered enough.  Or maybe I'm just a masochist at heart.  

It seems like all of a sudden, after wallowing in his mistakes for a wee bit of time he thinks........... "ah, if I just go home and apologize..... own up to my fuck ups and all will be forgiven...."  It just seems too swift, too easy and kind of manipulative.  I mean, did he REALLY feel responsible thereby guilty enough for how much he had messed up??  He had hurt others so deeply by mistreating their generosity. He abandoned them and went off to live detached from the ones who matter, from the ones who love him the most.  Yet, in one swooping embrace with his father, who is grateful to have his son home alive and well, the Prodigal Son admits that he has sinned and states that he is not good enough to be his father's son.  Poof!  He is forgiven and life goes on. 

It seems to me that true forgiveness isn't that easy.  Giving it or receiving it.  However there is no way to weigh it or measure it to ensure its the right amount.  Mercy is a feeling, not a substance.  Or maybe it is.  Maybe it is a substance that has to fully fill one's heart before it feels legitimate.  A half-hearted apology spoken in harsh bursts sits like a lump in the pit of the stomach.  The kind of apology that is thrown out in words so light they float away in a soap bubble is so fleeting that it gets lost in the continuous messy complications and leaves a residue of questions. But when one asks for forgiveness in a timbre of honest vulnerability and is received by the same kind of openness, something melts.  Something transforms.  Maybe I just missed that layer of vulnerability woven into the story of the Prodigal Son.

The thing about parables is that they are springboard stories written in broad strokes, which leave room for discussion and ongoing contemplation. Their meaning as well as their impact alter in the mind of the reader because every time we revisit them, we are in a different place in our lives.  What jumps out at me today is different than what jumped out at me the last time I read it.  I have a new lens....... the angle is different.

Today, as I stand upon a crossroad littered with messy complications and uncomfortable madness, I realize that the part of the story I have the most difficulty with is also based on the character I can relate to the most.  And if I don't believe the Prodigal Son.... then perhaps I need to revisit my own believability.  It's a strange paradoxical feeling because right down to my toes, I believe I would absolutely forgive the people in my life whom I love unconditionally.  It feels like such a no brainer.  Of course I would forgive them! Wouldn't I? 

Then again, maybe they wouldn't believe me..... maybe I'm not as authentically believable as I think I am.  Maybe my actions don't appear to be redemptive to them.  Maybe my acceptance words don't hold the same substance as my non verbal actions..... my messages are mixed.  I need to look at whether or not I do have a full heart of forgiveness to offer. And maybe, just maybe I need to forgive myself first........ to empty my own heart by asking God to love me, the screw up that I am.    Can you forgive others if you don't know how to forgive yourself?

It should be so simple.  It never is.  We constantly run away from resolution, from owning up to our role in creating the messes.  Why?  Could it be that if we do, change will inevitably occur.  And it may just rock our worlds in ways we may not be prepared for.  Then again, doesn't transformative change hold the potential for sacred lessons to settle one's soul?  And isn't that we are constantly striving for..... to feel that sense of HOME?   

When forgiveness matters the most, when you are stripped down to your sparse broken self and the only thing you desire is to be loved, asking for it becomes as real as it ever can be.  Whether it fills the heart of another and takes them to a place of pure acceptance is beyond your control.  This is what is so damn frightening.  However, you'll never know unless you take the risk. Perhaps its best to start by slipping out of that Self encasement and having a real honest naked chat with God. 

I wonder if the Prodigal Son felt his strongly stirred desire for home settle in his soul when he fell into the warm embrace of his Father?  The parable doesn't tell us that.......... we have to look beyond the story and hope that he did....that THEY both did.

5 words....to make me think....

Tonight a meme from my beautiful friend Gypsy. She chose 5 words specifically for me to use as a jumping off point for some random thought scribbling. Its always interesting to see where your thoughts go in a writing exercise like this. You can easily narrow in on one itchy idea and go with that. But, if you take a step back a bit, the options on where your words will sail becomes a little more adventurous. I don't know yet where these words will lead, but I'm anxious to find out.... Lets see...

Regret.

Say it silently to yourself, or give it a voice and the word regret still has a taste of salty tears. Listen to it closely and you can hear it sigh remorsefully. Try to lift it and you feel the tugging burden of unresolved mistakes. Regret shackles you to the past and lurks like a stalker obsessed with impacting your present life.

Is there anything good about a little bit of wallowing in a puddle of regret? Well, the longer you stay in that perpetual rumination of blame and shame, the more you want to find the right key to unlock the shackles that bind and get the hell out of there. Perhaps regret in all its self-flagellation, is really a motivator to get unstuck from the moment?



Crazy....

My Psychiatrist told me I was crazy and I asked for a second opinion. So he said, "Ok, you're ugly too."

Badabing! yeah....it's not mine......it's as old as the hills. I stole that from Rodney Dangerfield. But it still makes me laugh.

So, what do I have to say about the word crazy? It's under-rated. Try it sometime. Just remember, there is a HUGE difference between being crazy and being a crazy maker. What's the difference???

Crazy is eccentric, unpredictable, kind of funny, a little outrageous, sort of lovable, RED, PURPLE and Shiny, spontaneously laughs out loud, lightheartedly responsible, motivated to embarrass her children in a crazy auntie kind of way, flirty and friendly, non intrusive, a happy dancing fool. Crazy carries quirkiness in her multi-coloured purse.

Crazy Makers are off balanced, obsessive compulsive , a little frightening, mind manipulators extraordinaire, award winning victims, people's space invaders, motivated by lustful jealousy, not aware of being crazy, always blaming others for misinterpreting their actions, folks with socio-pathological personality traits. Never in the wrong, they deny deny, deny.... Crazy makers carry mind mace in their black bag of endless tricks.

SEE? Big difference eh? So who would you want to share your Fruit Loops with?


Turn.

This week, it's been my turn to be sitting at a student's desk in a classroom listening to the teacher. OH.MY.GOD! I can't stand it!!!!! It is a mind numbing exercise in trying to remained focused on a talking head at the front of the class.

I'm taking a train the trainer course on Non Violent Crisis Intervention. By the end of the day tomorrow, I will not only be qualified to teach this course (believe me, I won't be jumping at the chance to do this as it is written in the instructor's manual) I will be able to restrain you............ legally. So, don't mess with me, unless of course you would LIKE me to restrain you.

Alive....

I don't know which way I'm going
I can't find it on my map....
seems like I get lost if I look too far ahead.
But I know it don't come easy,
life's supposed to be this way....
at least that's what my latest self help guru said.....

Gotta a compass in my pocket
and the sun to guide by day.
But when the lonely stars are out at night
Only love can point the way.

I don't know what I'm after
No answers in the wind.......
seems like its a never ending road of self reflection.
But I'm sick of gazing at this face
I see no beauty looking back,
why can't i simply accept those blatant imperfections?

I have no idea how this fits with the word alive, except that these are the words that just tumbled out of me..... so, well, there you go...........



Passion

Charismatically paradoxical, passion burns and delights. Like the heat of two bodies entwined in a hungry love tango, it simmers in endless longing. Unanchored, passion can force you down onto your knees as well as lift you up into the thin air beyond the clouds, beyond recognition. Whether it stimulates suffering through blind yearning or focused intent, passion has the potential to pump you with enough energetic adrenaline to transform your emotions into determined thoughts, which in turn can move you into action.

Passion can be good or evil, light or dark. It can bring joy or it can surround itself with sobbing sorrow. Unwilling to surrender to mediocre, it suffers fools gladly by consuming disbelievers. Passion has NO time for skeptics.

As much as it can be selfishly all encompassing and bring darkness to this world, it can also be a selflessly open-hearted expression of love. Passion radiates, frightens, motivates, inspires, stirs, refreshes, churns, shocks, delights. It is the central focal point where all emotions derive from, and return to when they need a boost. It makes us want to breathe more deeply, devour more hungrily, wrestle bears with more desire.

Passion has the panache of a flamenco dancer, the mystical faith of a seeker, and the freedom of a gypsy soul. Paradoxically, it has the light fingers of a pickpocket and can steal away your morals. It is what makes you feel crazy, it may even force you to turn your life in a different direction. It certainly wakes you up and makes your whole being feel more ALIVE.

Can it lead to regret? Only if it gets you in trouble. And if you cross that line, I may have to restrain you. I know how.


ps. thanks Gypsy. :)

gimme shelter....

How does someone living in the land of plenty end up living in squalor down by the river? How does a human being grow up only to be discarded, abandoned, invisible and forgotten? I took these photos of a small outdoor nesting place for a few homeless people in the city of Fredericton. Located down by the edge of the Saint John River, so close to the Delta Hotel that you could shoot your spit and it would most likely hit the bricks. Haves and Have Not's residing as neighbours. The Have Not's know it. The Haves are oblivious. The neighbour on the other side? The Lieutenant Governor's mansion. Nice......

The area is referred to by government and community organizations, and the media as "tent city." Its hardly a city when you compare it to the excessively enormous shanty towns and makeshift communities under overpasses in larger centres. But, it is what it is....a home for the homeless, the transients......the human beings who have either chosen to live outside rather than in, or who cannot and will not abide by the rules of the local Shelters.

If you were walking quickly, or biking leisurely along this portion of the Trans Canada trail, chances are you wouldn't notice the hidden pathways leading to small clearings where human beings have congregated. Summer fauna overlaps the entrances and keeps the secrets behind the leaves...... sort of. Attention has been given to the handful of homeless people by a locally formed committee that was set up to "deal" with the issue. Deemed as dangerous and unsafe due to mental illness, addictions, lawlessness, there is an urgency to rectify the "problem" by finding alternative living arrangements.

There are some who want to use strong tactics to get these "filthy dirty addicts..." out of the city altogether. Put them on a bus.... move them to another town. Get rid of the problem. Quick and clean...resolve the issue by pushing it on. This "approach" reeks of impatience and disregard. No time or interest in finding out why another human being has fallen so far down and away from "functioning in the community" or being "self-sufficiently independent," these strongarmed bureaucrats see them as an issue that needs to be managed. No time to be curious or to see how beneficial it would be to connect in some way with these Tent people in order to learn WHY and WHAT HAPPENED...... They probably spend more time discussing what colour their new office furniture is going to be than truly caring enough to take the time to understand the individual human beings who have fallen.

There are others who sit across from the strongarm types who are quick to say...... Give them housing. They bark out their politics to anyone who will listen .... the issue is not enough affordable housing. The government doesn't have enough affordable housing!! Oh yeah, if only we had a place to park them that would solve the problem, now wouldn't it? hmmmmm......... no. It's not that simple. It also isn't that simple just to pour money into a bottomless pit with no foundation either. Housing doesn't make a home.

If we had all the money in the world, would the issue of homelessness be solved?

Homelessness is a symptom of a much larger systemic problem where one social service department or agency works in a silo providing their goods, while another offers up another package of goods and no one communicates effectively. Communities don't get off scot free either. Its not just a "problem" for the public sector to manage! Everyone plays a role because it isn't an "issue" that has to be solved. It's not a "problem" that has an easy fix answer like some math equation.

A person living on the streets, or down by the river, or in a tent in the woods, on a park bench, in a car, under a bridge, may have a handful of people whom they receive some form of assistance from. Social assistance, food, methadone, addictions counselling, shelter options, medical assistance. Sadly, not one of those helping frontline people have the capacity within the confines of their job description to fully assist this human being. Why? Time. Work constraints. Designated roles and responsibilities don't allow for it. Lack of genuine political will. Lack of financial resources. Community fear. Bias.

So, the perpetual problem continues...... and every now and then when the neighbourhood raises their ire, or when the Queen comes to town the issue of homelessness hits the front page of the local newspaper. Then, it dies down.......... becomes invisible and the human being Have Not's are lost beyond the margins, away from any attention.

Autumn is now here...... and the nights are colder.

deception....

Who lives on the island called Fool's Paradise surrounded by a mirage of delusionary hope? YOU DO! I know, I know ... you deny this vehemently ....

Who cries out with incessant histrionics too painfully misguided to be believable except to the one who cries the purple tears? YOU DO! Yeah...sure ... I hear your whacky explanation. I don't believe it.

How does someone function under such fantasies instead of the truth? And why? Why does someone work so damn hard not to be honest about their behaviour, both past and present? Is it because they spend all of their energy living a lie, creating many facades that NEVER interact with one another that somewhere along the line the truth has become so diluted by crocodile tears? Have they been so wounded and abused in the past that they don't have the capacity to act any differently because they really don't trust anyone? Wow, what a lot of work!

For a long time, you tried to keep me close as you manipulated your way through the maze of deception. I saw through your act ages ago. You know this.....and it terrifies you. I have become part of your deepening haunting shadow and you hate me for it. I have joined the previous folks who saw through your convoluted web and into your obsessive need to play a role, to wear a mask, to don a people pleasing persona even though deep down... the folks who clearly see that you think you're better than everyone else on this planet and this scares you to a point where you're determined to try to keep me close. Sad, pathetic, so alone YOU. Yes, entitlement is your achilles heel, as is your unrelenting belief that you are pure and unblemished.....that YOU do nothing wrong. You give, and give and give.....and why does the rest of the world not understand all that you have forfeited?

You trust no one.....NO ONE..... but like a hungry black widow, you keep this secret under wraps. Too bad your hunger is too ravenous, which at times makes you let that false skin down only to reveal your vulnerabilities.

What is interesting is that when you write.....you attempt to describe your vulnerabilities. You choose words carefully..........NOTHING comes out of you that you havent poured your energy assessing, contemplating, regurgitating. But, once someone realizes how wounded you really are, your vulnerabilities, used as weapons to trigger others seem juvenile.... pendantic.... pathetic.

What you hide, you hide from yourself. What you reveal? Here's the secret..... you reveal your sorrowful soul.... exactly what you are trying your hardest to keep under wraps. Why can't you just be honest about how you really feel, what you really think instead of trying to hammer a wedge between others? Why can't you just admit you're threatened and you need help? Why can't you come forward and admit your wrongdoings?

Why? Because the feelings you so aptly write about are feelings you never dare to embrace fully. Or maybe you do, but you can't imagine anyone else feeling the same way. It's like the intensity of how YOU feel outweighs anyone's elses. It's all very strange. I call it passive aggressive foreplay. Play on... by yourself.

What would happen if you did decide to leave the island of Fool's Paradise? Gee, maybe you'd find your soul.......and leave behind the "poor me" fashion and the "Nobody understands me" bullshit. Maybe you'd get real....to admit who you really are and learn to love yourself.

Deception....you intrigue me with your mind twisting confusion because I want to know the reason behind your need to control the relationships you eventually mess up. I wonder how you can keep things straight.... how you keep the revolving door of people in your life straight. Who have you told what whipped up story to????

I guess it comes down to the fact that you don't trust a soul. Always on the tipping point of being revealed as the con artist human you are, you never relax except when you drown yourself in the addiction of choice.....food, booze, drugs.....sex. When does it stop? Can you stop or are you suffering something greater than a good look in the mirror would help.

Can I suggest something? Can I suggest that it's time to seek help.....professional help and begin to admit the reason behind your incessant lies, rouge cheeked faces, your phoney posturing? Its time to stop the emotional manipulation. It's time to lift your veil to reveal you own brokenness. It's time to fess up, deal with whatever demons you harbour and heal.

And please stay clear of my life.... I'm sick of your head games, your lacey cheap perfumed attempts at empathy, and I won't let them or YOU interfere with my life anymore. Your mind games have become boring. The time I have spent trying to help and to figure you out has dried up.

ps....HEY! Anyone out there who has felt the whoring of deception in their lives before?? It's a mindtrip, thats for sure.

what is right? how do i get there?

(sunset from my front yard, may 2009, kodak instamatic 124)

I was told..
"We did the right thing."

contemplate, concentrate
choices abound, answers unfound
making a decison,
a sleepless indecision
why can't i settle down?

formulate, celebrate
say a vow, take a bow
formulation, transformation
move along with change......
tick, tock, tick, tock.......tell me how

certainty aligned?
uncertainty is blind...

you did the right thing....you really did.
yes...I did, didn't I?

rationalize, harmonize
last resort, no retort
ease the pain, swallow shame
wasted time, bitter crime
anger rising, temper short

tears expressed, such a mess
I did the right thing.....I think.
I did, didn't I?

Uncertainty causes stressssssssssss
uncertainty is life undressed

hesitation, protestation
saving grace, saving face
sad relief, fainting grief
lessen stress, its anyone's guess
when we finally find resolution.

back off, I need the space....
a whiskey soaked pace
'cause i ain't there yet.

WE DID THE RIGHT THING?
WHY DOES IT FEEL SO WRONG?

lonely fears, silent jeers
finger pointing....you're disappointing.....
deny, deny, deny
i'm trying to stay afloat here!

THESE are the best of times?
they're the only times i've ever known....

happiness, happiness,

it's the greatest feeling i want to possess....
repress, digress, eat less, wild guess, obsess, don a dress
humour seems pointless
or not....

intellectualize, harmonize
think before you leap
displace it all
suppress the fall
coping skills dont sleep.

Adaptation...
just another word for grieving....
one tearslippery rung at a time....
Why is it that most choices we make in life either don't feel to good, or don't live up to our expectations?
Why is it that some choices refresh old wounds?
Why is it that some choices hurt the ones we love even more?
Why does it takes so damn long to emotionally catch up with the brain driven decision???

Adaptation...learning how to cross thresholds into blue yonders takes practise I guess. Making some of life's decisions takes guts to recognize just exactly what need you are intending to fulfill....to know what you WANT...and then to know when to jump off the regret train, and move on.

you're doing the right thing
doing the right thing
the right thing
right thing
thing.....?

ahem....now what was that thing i did so right? Looks like I repressed it so deeply I can't even remember what it was all about.

ps.....this post was spurred on by this article...longitudinal research on how a healthy adaptation process, using effective (as opposed to neurotic, which we all know well....) coping mechanisms and problem solving skills can lead one to an emotional resolution, consequently will lead the way to a feeling of happiness. Or not.... The conclusion is yours to make.

WHOA! I THINK SHE'S GOT IT!!!!!!!!

A small incident from many years ago reappeared in my memory bank this week right after a completely separate and seemingly disconnected event happened in my life. Yet, it somehow managed to turn on an internal switch I think I've been fumbling with for what seems like forever. It also turned my frown into giggle when I quickly saw the absurdist analogy. What stumps me is how such a small seemingly inconsequential blip in my life journey has obviously continued to float in the ether of my collective experiences just waiting to become part of a "teachable" moment.

25 years ago, I backpacked through parts of Europe with my friend Heather. Along the way, we hooked up with other travellers...sometimes just for the day.......sometimes a little longer. It depended on the connection and interests....it depended on which direction we were headed. Sometimes, the fates kept intersecting throughout the trip so that our new friends would pop up unexpectedly at another destination unbeknownst to anyone.

This happened consistently with Mike, a beautiful gregarious man from Minnesota whom we had originally met while he was fumbling at the front desk of a dumpy hostel in Athens trying to sort out accomodation. He had just managed to make his way through to Sarajevo for the Olympics and all on his own travelled south by train, crossing a border and dealing with all that entailed. But, for some reason, he couldn't get his act together to communicate his wishes. We watched him for a while....and then went to his rescue. He bought us a beer. We became fast friends.

(shoot! now I'm all wrapped up in ALL the stories of my travels with Mike and I just wanted to share one incident!! ggrr..... gotta stay on track here..... I'll write another piece about him another time because it is a wonderful story about the realness of serendipity...)

So........fasttrack.....we left Athens.....bizarrely reunited on the ferry to Italy.......did Rome in more than a day (AMAZING CITY.....) and ended up in Florence. He and I saw Pisa and Sienna together and loved it while Heather chose to stay in Florence to soak in the art. On the last day together (or so we thought because fates kicked in twice more on this backpack trip to pull us together) we were standing in the Florence train station with plans to go in different directions. At this point, there were two Brazillian travellers with us who spoke English and Portugese.

It was a bit chaotic that morning....notorious Italian strikes the day before had messed up the train schedules. So, Mike took it upon himself to approach a tiny old Italian woman who was standing behind a counter to ask about departure times. Without any hestitation, he asked her in English....not even considering the woman may not speak the language. The woman duffed him off with her hand telling him in Italian, "no english..." So, what did Mike do? He spoke LOUDER and SLOWER!

Hello!? A little smacking of entitlement stirring around in that manboy's body??

Frustration on both sides filled the air. It was classic. The old woman completely dismissed him as an idiot American traveller. And Mike who was a pleasant friendly guy was hurt in some weird way....he was misunderstood. I think it was an ego bite. We added to the bite by asking him YET AGAIN how he had managed to travel solo through Eastern Europe without someone knocking his block off? Why did he always assume everyone could speak and understand English??

One of the guys from Brazil took over. He approached the old woman behind the counter while we stood off to the side, far enough away that we couldn't hear the conversation. In seconds, he had the woman smiling and conversing. Strange.....he didn't speak Italian, and we assumed the woman didn't speak Portugese. And yet, he managed to return to us with the departure time information. Dumbfounded, I said to him....

"I didn't know you spoke Italian..."

"I don't," he replied, "I just changed the accent on my Portugese. There's enough similarities in the language that she was able to understand me."

I hadn't thought about this silly incident for years until I was driving home one day this week. I had just been confronted with the realization that my emotions were eating me up and driving others away. Not only that, because I hadn't been heard....or they hadn't been acknowledged therefore not affirmed as a human being (this is how it felt....I think its an EGO thing!!!), I did what I do best,.....I had been rachetting them up a notch or two. I had been consistently turning up the decibels. And when that didn't work, I sucked them in and simmered in the sludge of pissed offness. I know I have channelled them into my writing, but apart from that venue, they were either being supressed or spilling out scaring people.

Listen to me for God's sake! Can't you understand the language of my emotions???? This was the frustration I have been feeling in all parts of my life. If a person dismissed me because they were afraid of how intense my feelings were, I felt rejected. If a person tried to help me unravel the now pent up potent stew boiling away, I flooded them. No inbetween seemed to be available to me. No explanations or attempts to describe it using the same language helped me at all. It never occured to me that all I had to do is step back and perhaps change the accent. I seemed to have been stuck in a place of entitlement like Mike and expected others to get it.

There is absolutely no doubt that I am an emotionally driven person. I always have been....I feel it in myself and I feel it deeply in others. This is what helps me be a good counsellor. This is what I can POUR out as a facilitator in front of a classroom full of learners. I see how it helps me connect to others who are trying to scramble up out of a hole. The complicated feelings that make up a deep firey belly of passion has tremendous implications, both positive and negative. Cognitively I understand this....and intellectually I know many don't have this desire or capacity to pull from in themselves. Big feelings scare the shit out of most people. My fears are different.....spiders, snakes, flying....death, drowning, being rejected.....the whole God existance or not thing...... lots of fears here. But, I ain't afraid of emotions.

I have been told time and again I'm too sensitive....too dramatic....my feelings are right there on my sleeve, expressed through my vocal chords, in my writing. The most unnatural thing for me to do is to suppress. The absolute worst thing someone can do to me is ignore me....to remain silent simmering in their own feelings. When this is combined with a sense of something being unfair, well I have a tough time coping. I want to fix it. I want to express it. I want equality.

My father always said I was a "do it" person. I am that, and I thank him for this gene he passed onto me. On most days, this is a good thing. Stuff gets done. But, what I've learned this week (again, because I'm sure this lesson has hit me over the head a thousand times before ) is that sometimes my feelings can shut down others feelings because they swamp them. I have enough gumption to express it for a whole ball team if needed. But, sometimes that doesn't help them, nor does it help me. If and when I tackle life that way, I am more often than not shut out, shunned, not believed.

An example on a smaller scale, I could feel it in a team meeting the other day when I was describing a particularly meaningful interaction I had with a client. I could see that some were with me as I thought i was carefully choosing my words and actually keeping my feelings in line. But, there were others who shut down and dismissed me because they think I'm some Pollyanna airhead who doesn't see reality. Little do they know, not only do I see reality, I feel it in my bones too!

Feeling people are unpredictable people. Out of control feeling people (when affirmation or recognition doesn't happen for a long time.....or when life seems too damn chaotic and unreliable) are caustic. Rachetting it up a notch NEVER helps.

So, lesson learned.....everyone has to have the chance to express their own stuff, that many are not comfortable AND WILL NEVER BE comfortable with big emotions..... and that it would be best to learn how to speak Portugese with an Italian accent rather than talk louder. Interestingly, I've always had a thing for the passion of the romantics. BELLA!

order! order! what logic?

I've never been one to do things in a clear linear manner. I just don't seem to be wired that way. Since last fall for example, when I was moved out of my "job" to cover someone else's while he worked on a special project, I have been plugging along in my own way trying to find a fit. Unconventional me was originally shown a 5 or 6 (I can't remember now how many) step process for getting the job done. It seemed very logical. I could see how theoretically and practically it could be applied. I know it worked because the wonderful person I was covering for is very successful AND very good at working within this formula. He should. He created it. He's linear. And thank God for that because NON linear people desperately need linear folks in their lives. They protect us from falling into a canyon of unfinished projects and into the myriad of broken thoughts. But when it comes to counselling, I prefer to fall into the canyon down into the myriad of broken thoughts and dreams. It's where the connection happens....well it does for me.

Now, I tried. Once I think. Maybe a couple more times after that.... It was like wearing a pair of boots three sizes to big. I was clomping around like a eejit trying to do this dance number to music with an unfamiliar beat. So, I modified the process by chucking it. out.the.window ..... Then, I found my authentic voice and manner again and went from there. Of course, wary ones who have referred their clients to me for the linear system don't seem to trust the free fall approach to my craft. I have a feeling they look at me with skepticism. But, I know who gets the darn hug and a smile of relief at the end of the sharing.

Ring the bell that still can ring......
forget your perfect offering.....
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in....
I look for the crack, for the light......I like to sit right there.

Have I told you I work in a bureaucratic system? They don't breathe like me. Or maybe I should rephrase that....I don't breathe like them. They like neatly done approaches which of course is an oxymoron in the land of red tape, but the system continues to STRIVE for this fancy facade of straight forward, policy driven, full speed logical delivery of service and it gets lost in the convoluted complicated web of wiring. This is how widgets are counted.... You can't keep stats when the system is not tackled the same way everytime. It is a constant struggle that thankfully the big mucky mucks make their very best attempts at solving. With policies. With agendas. With micro handling. Captured in scientifically set up boxes which hum away on the desk of every staff person. I see it as my role to throw a bit of faerie dust art into the scheme of logic.

Oh, don't get me wrong. I completely understand the importance of counting widgets. Accountability is just as important to me, the non-linear gal as it is the logically driven straight ahead human. We just come at it from different angles. Where it gets blurry is that when the approach is coming from polar opposite places? There is lots of room for misunderstanding. And, misunderstanding can easily lead to mistaken assumptions. I'm not working within the parameters of the set formula, I must not be doing my job. Or some such thing.

I do like order....just not so much of it that it squeezes the life out of spontaneity and authenticity. So, I think in order to help the wary ones who look at my dance steps and shake their heads in distrust, I have to show them that we are making progress. And we are..... but it takes time.

5 steps in a process and all is well..........
trust in the process.......gotta trust in my own process.



There is a level of intellectual reflection in the process of counselling, but in order to make a difference, one has to lead with intuitive emotion. It humanizes it. It softens the formality into a trusting conversation where vulnerable regrets can be laid out without judgement. And, I've come to realize its the same approach I am learning to take when it comes to being open to accepting the very idea that there is a God.


It wasn't until I realized I needed to let go of the intellectual "prove it to me with facts" approach. For years, I grabbed hold of this frame of mind where I demanded the logic and clearcut proof that God existed. Jesus? Sure! Virgin birth? Come on! Rising from the dead? What kind of drugs are you smoking? What pushed me away even more were the people I encountered who clung to a certainty so tightly in an effort to convince themselves of logic which from my perspective did not exist. The more I entered into a cerebral vortex, the more skeptical I became until I found myself completely dismissing any conversation with even a faint aroma of the divine.

The summer of 2005 was a turning point for me on many fronts, and one day I will write the story fully as to what happened inside me. But, its not time yet. Suffice to say that a combination of events and encounters managed to kick me out of this cognitive framing of religion and pointed me back to a place in my life when it was humanized.....when believing came from a place of intuitive emotion. Still very skeptical and very tentative, I decided I would approach the opening of the chapel door differently. Given that my writing focus returned at the same time it seemed like the natural guide to returning to a place where I could consider believing in God again.


As I dove into the writing and let the thoughts and words flow freely without restraint, I quickly realized I experienced moments when I had no idea where any of it was coming from. There was no logic.....how could my desire and ability to write simply dry up for 20 years and then return with a fury? And how could my interest in religion leave me on the banks of the river for close to 20 years and then begin to trickle back as an option at the same time? It quickly became clear to me that as I wrote, I often felt a sense of being outside of the act. Transcendent? Otherworldly? I was a vessel capturing ideas, generating the words and spilling them onto a canvas. And as I wrote, I realized how much I was learning in the process. It was like I had a ravel of punctuation and exclamations inside the stories and reflections buried in my spiritual canyon.....where the myriad of my broken thoughts and dreams dwelt all bunched up and confused. It was when I let go of trying to make sense of things through logic that I was able to find my linearity....through my writing.


When it all came barreling back.......my interest in developing some kind of relationship with God and my turn of the word, I didn't actually see how they were dovetailing for a while. Two insights led the way. I woke up one morning to the realization that counselling, even within the confines of bureaucracy, is a calling and a gift I was given. When this finally dawned on me, I completely accepted it without question. The second insight was when I realized that this gift was unexplainable and I was completely fine with that.


Once I relaxed and stopped questioning why I was doing what i was doing, I was able to see how many times during the connections I nurtured, there was a magical feeling generated. Reflections and new approaches brought more insight and consequently more inspiration to delve into what I had learned and what I was learning through my gift. This in turn spurred on the ideas......until one day I realized I had been writing about many different components of faith. Themes began to surface. Growth through the new set of eyes....there's nothing quite like it.....disturbing, exhilarating, uncomfortable, inspiring, illuminating, painful.....it ran the gamut as I chugged away taking one concept at a time and reflecting on it from a clean slate.


My journey since I woke up with a new set of eyes during the summer of 2005 has clearly not been a straight line, nor has it been easy. In what seems disconnected on the surface, the experiences and "tests" I have been through since then are all tied together. I see that, in my own non linear way. The emotional obstacles which have deeply impacted my confidence and reliance on my intuition and have made me question whether what I do has value....it has even forced me to wonder many times about whether I am personally valued. The meaning behind it all is still very foggy. I would LOVE to know the reason behind it all. What I have held onto were the insights which found me in 2005 and my writing as a means to be touched by the hand of God. Logical? Not when I only use my brain to sort it out. But, when I process it through my heart and my gut feelings instead? It all makes sense. Or so it seems.

abandoned

She sits behind the dull vacant stare of her greying dry eyes under the matted woolen remnants of yesterdays past, unnoticed by those who are supposed to care. She's tried. My God, she tried. But no attempt to reach out to others brought any relief to her once constant aching loneliness. The ache is gone, replaced by stone. Stone lonely.... hardened cold, void of heartsoftness, void of emotion. Inanimate and unloved.

She sits below the road, away from the flow of humanity in a place where driftwood and discards stare at her in mocking abandonment. Her own breathing keeps her company, makes her realize she is not inanimate like the waste she sits amongst. Every day however her breathing becomes more shallow and more laboured as she moves another day farther away from the tender times in her life when she was loved. She remembers she was once a baby too.... a beautiful child of promise. Now if she was to look in a mirror at her cracked lips untouched by another for far too long, at her grey eyes once sparkling in green light now stripped of lifehope......she would simply wonder who the stranger was staring at her.

Disconnected, she cowers in old hunches as she searches for warmth. Ice chatters in the water's waves by the shore. The wind threatens this drab existence and howls down its mournful whistle.

Two lovers wrapped into one another appear up above, dressed in bright coloured coats and matching hats. They stop to look out at the water vista while whispering to each other in their smiling cocoon. Their eyes blinded from seeing anything but their rose coloured view, never catch sight of the old woman just below. She sees them......and catches the aura of promise in the air all around them as they continue to stroll over the bridge leaving her alone again in the wake of none.

Her vacant stare returns. She moves inside herself. The cold presses her temples as she takes her last breath. She slips away into the grey sombre light as the rest of the world carries on beyond the unheard dirge.

Brought to you by this week's photo theme, "drab." You can blame Carmi at Written Inc. if this little piece brought you down.........while I go off to pour myself a drink and try to stir up some happy thoughts. :) DRAB Carmi? Its March in Canada??? Salt in the wound man! Salt. in. the. wound!