learning the fall tap dance....

The other morning, I joyfully found myself in front of a group of students talking about emotional awareness.  I asked them to write down 5 words to describe how they were feeling right at that moment.  I did the exercise too.  One of the words that I used was "flurried."  I don't know if it is a real word.....more like one of those words that sounds the way it feels.

Flurried.   Kind of a combination of fury, flurry, scurry and hurried.  A bit dizzy too.  Zippy energy, but a wee beyond balanced. 

September feels that way because of all of the activities that re-enter  life's scenes.  Summer has its own meandering pace, with sunlight haziness on fields of wildness casting long shadows on shallow thoughts.  Water sprinklers to cool salt-sticky skin, dramatic thunderstorms to drench out the pall of humidity.  Summer doesn't have a flurried feeling to it.  It's blurried like an impressionist painting.  Whereas September, when the nights are sweater cool, and the daytime skies sharpen like linen blue shirt collars freshly ironed, there is a sense of getting down to business. Realism.

It takes time to relearn the tap dance steps to the routine of September, especially when you've had a summer like mine that was riddled with kapows and kerflooooies.  I never did manage to get the old lenses into full focus. Too many layers of feelings got in the way and needed to be addressed along with a healthy dose of grieving.   Good thing it was summer and everything was supposed to look smeary.  Is that a word?  I like it.............. SMEARY.  

The thing about feeling flurried is that at some point you trip over your clumpy tap shoes because you're trying too hard to keep a pace that just doesn't fit yet and you STOP.  For a breath.  Then, the realization kicks in......... in order to have that sensation shiver through your veins, it means that you're generating more energy.  It may not be firing as efficiently as it could, but that's alright.  Routines take a while to recover, and the best you can do is to relearn while re-jigging and re-jigging until you get to a place where the shoes have been worn in and the steps become more natural again.   

The other thing about feeling flurried...........?  Read as it feels, it is a multi-sensory request to remind oneself that everything gets done eventually.  No rush.  No panic.  Stretch the zip over a longer period of time.   It's all about finding balance once again. 

As I led the class in a short "visit" on emotional awareness, it gave me a chance to stop, look and listen to my own array of inner tickings while helping them peak inward as well.  Whenever you do that, it can conjure up deeper sensations because more often than not a conversation about how you feel begins at exploring the branches of a tree  but very quickly, you dig under the surface to see how broad and deep the feeling is....how far the roots have spread.   

At first, they may seem like a flicker image........ a point and click snapshot, but feelings have roots and reasons to them that take courage and reflection time to peer beyond the snapshot and to find the words and the meaning ............ the reason WHY you feel the way you do.  New similar descriptive words, similar ones pop up from underground that coincide as well as dwell in the same place because they share the same roots.  

The more you look, the more light is shone on awareness.  This can be a frightening exercise because the messages may indicate the need to be honest about the need to make some adjustments or even some out and out changes. But what is a life if it isn't examined?  Its no life at all.  As much as our feelings can be a "wake up" call, they are also the light that leads us to a sacred place of vulnerability when you begin to wonder why you're feeling the way you do.  And it is in that holy space in our souls where growth and enlightenment begin. 

I returned to this class later in the week because I didn't feel a sense of completeness with the lesson.  I found a different class.  They had shifted.  No longer quiet and reserved, they were ready to be engaged in a conversation of sharing stories, expressing their opinions, and analyzing how our thoughts, feelings, physiology and actions are intertwined....... how much they impact one another. 

They are learning to read the signs of who they are and why they feel the way they do.  And the more we talked, the more confident I felt back up in front of a class of students leading.  They were finding their flow.  I was finding mine.   The flurriness disappeared.  A calm sense of empowerment replaced the vulnerability.  My footing is returning.  The zippy energy?  It's being channeled again.  

That focus I've been lacking in for the past 8 months?  It has returned.  Look out! My toes are tapping to the autumn beat. 

Heart Grenades and the Art of Looking Sideways.

Strange to look at life sideways.  Strange, but oh so imperative.  It stretches the muscles in our eyes in a way that doesn't feel natural.  However, if ever we really want to make changes in this world we live in, and in our own individual lives, we must look off to the side for the options.  Conformity, the lemming kind, is the death knell of our society. The routine of sameness depletes our energy, sending us down a heavy footed path of apathy, dulling our senses.  What always perks up the brain, kisses the heart, zippity dips the pace is a fresh perspective.   Fresh awareness.....

Lemon scented fresh.

First kiss fresh.

After the rain cool breeze fresh. 

Puppies pouncing in the snow fresh.

Pussy willow promise fresh

Blooming pink blossom fresh

New slivery moon fresh

Stepping out of the shower rinsed and naked fresh.

We drop the blinders, take off the armour, stretch out our yawnings, open our minds, and look around?  Suddenly our way of seeing, which became our way of being, alters.  We shift.  In a blink. Aha! 

Here's a NEW way of looking at this issue!

Here's some light seeping through the dark realities of our sufferings

Here's a possibility!

But, am I willing to make the shift? Do I have a choice here?  MAN! What a frightening thought!

Life is easier to stay confined in a pocket of protection, away from new perspectives.  It seems safer, more predictable, more sane.  Yeah, right! What an illusion that is.  Still, we hold on tight to what we consider is the truth. It's what we know.  It's what we built our lives on.... those beliefs that you had some control over the events in your life.  Maybe that's the purpose of those "heart grenades" that often get lofted at us?  To wake us up?  To make us question everything around us??  To shake the inner stuffing loose.  To help us lose our balance in order to feel vulnerable?  When we are shook up enough and the vulnerability is ripe for the weeping, there is no more truth to hold onto.  What is left is an opportunity to look at life from another vantage point. 

God, will you help me do this?  Give me the strength to look at this life sideways...... to stand it on its ear.... to relax enough to let go of the ruminations..... to open the valve and let the possiblities flow upon the shiny rocks which I continue to stub my toes on! 

Shut off the valve of possibility, our whole being dries up. Turn it on full blast and the pools of creativity fill up and up and up with the cleansing spirits to quench the thirst we sometimes didn't even know existed.  At first, when new perspectives arise, we want to gulp it down....God, we're so thirsty for answers, for comfort, for colour!  When we first realize that how we are living, doing, being is not working, we want to change it ASAP!   Because of desperation and the motivation to douse the flames licking at our shame, we shuffle forward without taking the time to learn how to use our refreshed senses properly.  We need time to "retool" as well as to assess whether this new perspective is the right fit.  An oasis of water flowing to a thirsty person wounded by a heart grenade can be just as dangerous as staying in a pocket of protection.....

hmmmmm............maybe we need to look both ways, allowing the green twinkle of our eyes to cast beyond the first glance.....  looking beyond the sideways just at our feet......... over the horizon sideways... leap of faith sideways..... There is an art to it.  But there are no clear cut linear instructions.  You have to figure out your own glancing, looking, observing, assessing, glimpsing, gazing.  Not alone.  You don't have to learn this alone.  There is a Holy Spirit all around us to guide us. 

Sometimes we are the last to know how dehydrated and thirsty we really are.  Until we learn the art of looking sideways.  If we allow it to, it can soothe the wounds left by the blast of a heart grenade.  Late night loneliness does not have to smell like napalm.  It can be soothed by the aroma of perfuming comfort and the essence of insensing courage.......... let me turn my head to the left..... to the right....  Now?  let me look up and out.......... and what do I see?  Delicious possibilities.

Tell me...... What do YOU see when you look sideways?

_____________________________

ps.  This post was inspired by two things. I found myself in the valley of emotions today, so much so that I think I need to get my hormones checked!  The dips are too severe and I'm now thinking that there could be a medical reason feeding this trip I'm on.  Heaven help anyone who goes near a PMS-ing 49 year old in the throes of a divorce. You have no idea how ugly it looks from the inside! But, I'm relieved to report that I'm pulling out of this mass of snottiness and will be myself once again tomorrow.  (thank you Mavis!!)

I am also thinking a great deal about the upcoming Greenbelt Festival which I had the pleasure and the opportunity to attend last year.  In some respects, it was life changing.... many shifts occured and insights were gathered.  Sadly, the one which was so predominantly recharged in my being.... to return home from the festival with a clear desire to work through the issues in my marriage, I wasn't even able to kickstart.  It was over.  I just didn't know it.  

However, on a spiritual level, the depth of my faith and interest in pursuing this path of believing strengthened beyond my expectations.  Consequently, it has provided a foundation I sorely depended on last spring and continue to.  So, I wish I was going again this year....... to Greenbelt.  To refresh, to remind myself, to recharge, to remember, to reflect and to have some really really good fun with a group of people who are a part of my life and my heart.  When I think of them fondly, their beautiful faces and friendliness feed my soul with such delicious soulfood.

The theme for the Greenbelt Festival this year is "The Art of Looking Sideways..."  It's such an inspirational theme.... and fits nicely with how I try my best to look beyond the sides of my life.  The creative side of me, whether it's writing or photography, or even counselling (there is a lot of creativity and openness in the field of counselling) embraces this theme wholeheartedly.  So, I thought I would try to capture my feelings of this day as well as my thoughts on the theme.  I guess you could say, I was a multi-tasking blogger tonight.  And it worked.

  

My head cleared.  

I looked sideways.  

And you know what I found? 

MY SMILE!  I found MY SMILE! 
The little bugger was smirking 
off to the side!

Love to all of you............ xxxx

the hills are alive.........

river valley hill, view from the end of my street

One of the most important pieces of advice I was offered was to "pick the hills you fight over."  In other words, assess, reassess, step back to observe the issue from a different perspective, and try to foresee the benefits and dangers of your actions.  It's all about risk assessment and management.  The worst thing one can do is to blindly react from full feelings.  It only gets messy.  The key is to avoid the emotional bursting of the seams by lowering the blood pressure so you can think straight! That way, you have a much clearer picture of cause and effect...........

Ask yourself.....

Why is this important to me? 

Is this an issue that clashes with my heartheld values?

Is this worth my time, effort, energy? Why?  Why not?

If I don't fight for this hill, will there be long term reverberations that may impact future challenges?

Who does it impact if I don't take it on? 

Who does it impact if I do take it on?

If all of my actions are my best attempt at fulfilling one of 5 needs, Survival, Love and Belonging, Empowerment/Control, Freedom, Fun.......... which one is driving me? 

Its important to try to see it from the other side too?  What "need" is the person whom I am in conflict with trying to fulfill? Why do they want this particular hill?  Why is it important to them?

Sometimes, just by taking the time to consider whether it really is a hill you want to fight over or not, you may find a sense of resolution.  Other times, you hone your intent so you can tackle the issue with a more solid gameplan.  Though it doesn't guarantee success if you do decide to take on the battle, it does fill you with more conviction and confidence to take the risk.  

My terrain is hilly at the moment. Oh, who am I kidding?  My terrain is always frigging hilly. Whose isn't?  But honestly a few of the mounds ahead of me seemed to have erupted out of nowhere.  Sniper hills! Those types are probably the ones that are the most challenging and need to be surveyed the most intensely, when in fact I'd personally just like to stick a piece of dynamite in the turf and blow them right out of the way.  Instead, I'll be good and take my own advice............ to chill at the bottom of the hill a bit longer and figure out the most productive tactic. 

Got any hills worth fighting over in your life these days??

the opposite of perfectionism? messy.

Given how often I fall into a nest of messes, no one could ever label me a perfectionist. Me and messy predicaments go hand in hand.  By the time I am finished a project, a counselling session, a meeting, a workshop, I'm askew.  Especially if chalk is anywhere in the vicinity.  I don't even have to touch the stuff and it somehow ends up smeared somewhere on my clothing.............usually situated in the most embarrassing spots.  Whatever accessories I am wearing............earrings, scarf, other jewelry etc, begin the day with me in the "proppa" place.  But then they end up in some other formation and I don't really care.  My hair never looks the same one day to the next. b-o-r-i-n-g.  Coiffed makes me feel claustrophobic.  Perfectionism, the kind that accompanies judgemental tsk-tsking, completely takes the air right out of my lungs.

Oh, don't get me wrong.  I live by a set of self imposed standards. I don't dress like a slob. The work I do isn't considered sloppy, though my office leans towards disorganized looking.  Though some would consider my approach to life as odd....maybe even eccentric verging on outlandishly deviant, I am reliable.  There are times when for a variety of reasons, I want to remain in that zone called comfort, but usually I like to play hopscotch with that square I've drawn around me.

I just like messes.  And humour.  I like humour too.  People who can't crack a smile scare me. They also push my goofy button too and I'm overcome by the desire to get them to crack that smile....pull them out of that tight assed ensemble with no wrinkles they are hiding in.

Like everyone,  I have several OCD tendancies.  C'mon!  YOU DO TOO!  For example, I can hardly breathe right if the pictures/paintings on a wall are tipped to one side or WORSE, not hung at the correct eye level. Colour and how a room feels hits me right in the temples.  If I have an idea for a crafty kind of project, I become a slave to the idea until I can try it.  However, the craft projects I prefer include paints, goopy glue, glitter shakers, cut outs, dyes, and of course googly eyes.  So, my idea may be clean, crisp and obsessive but my approach isn't.............it's MESSY.

I'm a random talker...........my head is FULL of ideas that churn and fuel me.  Nothing turns me on more than being engaged in an open ended expressively rambling quick witted fast paced honest plunge into the heart of a conversation with someone who loves that too.  I think there's a dirty term for this, but I'll be good and not refer to it here.  It rhymes with findmuck. 

I'm sure it frightens the daylights out of a person who doesn't like surprises when they find themselves talking to someone else who loves a good findmuck.  There have been times when I'm in the middle of one of these tete a tetes when I have thought about how it looks from an outsider......... CRAZY I'm sure.  Then, I move onto another thought and carry on.  :) However, when it comes to a problem, I'll pick at it and pick at it until I crack the damn thing.  It remains in my craw until I beat it to death with my thinking.  Is this a form of perfectionism?  who knows??

Can you imagine going to a Counsellor who is a flaming perfectionist?  Egads!  Surprisingly, they are out there.  What amazes me is WHY would they want to be a Counsellor?

Even though I thrive on the openness of a broad based multi-issued conversation, I am precise when it comes to planning for a workshop.  In fact, I even complete a lesson plan........with objectives and a purpose.  I  make a list of materials I will need.  I sketch out the activities, write down a variety of questions I want to use to engage the group.  I do all of the front end work.  I prepare.  Then?  I'm ready.  Then?  I go into a workshop and let it rip and let it unfold as it should. I'm ready for the messes.  When you're in the field of working with other human beings, you've got to expect deviations, opinions, emotional minefields, needs, issues, stories, frustrations, and spontaneity.  I LOVE THAT part!  It's like inhaling a breath of fresh air!

Rarely do I leave a workshop without covering the key messages I want to teach.  However, rarely does a class unfold as I have planned it out.   I can only imagine how this way of teaching, interacting, doing would make a perfectionist feel.  Messy random bursts of human spontaneous combustion fuels my being.  It must do the exact opposite for someone who needs to maintain a feeling of controlled decorum.  The anxiety must be intense..... as intense as I feel when I am confronted by a situation where I feel like my wings are clipped or my hands are tied down.  If we can't be "ourselves," the anxiety we feel heightens.

Do you know that my daughter's favourite teacher this year is a self confessed ADHD?  She has the whole class of 16 year old seating out of her hand!  

People who thrive on the nitty gritty details as a means of feeling a sense of control completely dumbfound me.  Sure, I know how important they are in the scheme of things.  Yes, I want them to be the people who build our bridges and direct the construction of our dwellings.  But, when their way of being extends to a point where they bring that type of thinking and doing into the discourse and they don't have the capacity to be open and receptive to another human being without passing on gobs of judgement?  Well, I want to know why they are so frightened to let loose.  What's going on inside their heads and heart??  And then I want to run away from them because their barbs are nasty!

I want to know why they can't relax and jump into more fascinating forum where sharing happens through unconditional positive regard.  I want to know why they are the first to judge.... the first to be cynical, pedantic, posturing. I want to know why they can't trust another?  I want to know why they are so damn frightened of being wrong, or showing their grey roots.  I want to be direct and outwardly ask them the why ............. I want to lean forward and look into their eyes, straight into their soul and ask the questions.  Can you imagine??  It would be like stripping them naked, revealing their messy bits.  Do you think perfectionists have a fantasy to want to dance like Beyonce.......I'm a single lady? Somehow I doubt it.  Pole dancing for the tight assed?  Maybe this is the type of therapy needed to help them let loose a bit. hmmmm.........

My way of being is considered by some to be a flurry blur that even may be perceived as unconventionally unacceptable.  Though I am a far cry away from being a loose canon or a renegade with a strange agenda,  the very sniff of my messy unpredictability for a person who thrives on perfectionism  leads them to believe I am someone who needs to be reminded of my place in the world. UGH!  

I think I'm their worst nightmare.  Their biggest fear?  I'm going to ask them WHY?  And I would.  Because I really want to jump right into the heart of that slip sliding mess. 

feeling empowered...

It's an energy thing.... empowerment.  There is a feeling of uplifting clarity when one lets go of those harboured illusions initially constructed for protection and sees that nothing has shattered in the process.  Feeling empowered is the result of a long process of personal growth which begins with vulnerability.  We feel insecure, uncomfortable, off kilter when we are vulnerable.  Naked in the eyes of our selves and there's no place to hide.  Vulnerability is the result of acknowledging fear enhanced reality.

In order to eradicate that feeling, we begin to chart out a plan by expanding our thinking through assessment and critical analysis of the situation which is making us feel so shaky.  Its the decision to fight rather than take flight. We problem solve. We begin to think it through, talk it out.... contemplate.  By so doing, we usually stumble across an idea.... a "hey" moment that could possibly be the solution to whatever the "woe" is.  As soon as this moment kicks in, so does our energy.  When we begin to feel a sense of empowerment, our confidence is fueled.  Hope is regenerated. Enthusiasm is restored.

There is nothing more motivating than feeling weak kneed vulnerable.  Nothing more humbling either. 

roots

If our roots aren't dipped in empathy, how does one acquire it?  If we have only experienced insufferable emotional blows as we grow from our roots, and never have had the experience of empathy immersion, how do we know what it feels like to be bathed in compassion?  If our soul has been pummeled by angry fists and hoofed by steel-toed boots, how do we learn to love ourselves?

We only learn survival behaviour.  Nasty retorts, cowering fear, rage fueled outbursts, or complete emotional shut down numbness..... all for self protection.  No win-win here.  Just a series of serious stumbling over bad decisions, poor choices, ineffective means of connecting.   Still there is a deep hunger to be loved.

Lose-Lose equals  Lonely-Lonely

There's a spiraling effect, which turns into a self fulfilling prophecy.  Believe you're unloved, you will act like you're unloved.  Believe you deserve to be treated poorly, you will act like you don't give a damn about yourself or others.  Sometimes, if you believe you're owed a better life because of all that you've endured, you demand it in a way that stomps on others.  Entitlement overkill.  This perpetual unlovely behaviour squeezes any semblance of empathy right out of touch. It distorts clear minded thinking.  It spoils the sweet aroma of sensitivity and compassion.  It twists logic until it chokes on bile.

If there is a continuous taste of bile and a stomach churning up angry acid, how can you feel empathy?  You can't.  The pain is too red raw........... there is no lining left..... no protective tissues to console.

Is there any way to feed those  roots....the same ones that have been neglected since childhood? Sometimes, it's impossible.  Damage is so deeply embedded that it seems to chemically alter the brain somehow.  Though I am no scientist, I have met my fair share of people who are either born with the inability to feel empathy for others, or whose reslience has been worn down, forced by a life of abuse.  The capacity to dig into the soulpocket where empathy dwells just isn't there. Maybe the learning issue is more than making a choice to look through the eyes of another.  Maybe there is a physical manifestation of psychological damage?  Maybe the roots are dangerously tainted by psychopathology.

Sometimes it IS possible to help someone by feeding their roots.  How?

By choosing to love the unlovely.  

By allowing them to listen to the stories of the people they may have negatively impacted.

By allowing them to tell their story.

By encouraging and encouraging their willingness to change.... to reform, transform, stand on a new platform....... 

By accepting vulnerability as a state of mind worthy of our trust in learning and growth.

By mentoring through actions and guiding....... role modellng the softening melt that happens when forgiveness is the goal.

By recognizing that every single human being is made from the same fabric, the same ingredients.

By wrapping our faith around the belief that we are all players within the Body of Christ. 

It's a lot of work........a lot of effort.  Our natural inclination is to stay within our own belief system... our own way of seeing the world and how it impacts us.  If only we can step out and look through a different lens.  

It's a Grace of God go I thing.........even if you believe there is no hope in empathy transformation. 

ps.... this theory is in the process of being tested.........and continues this week.  

ramblin' through the messes.

My beautiful girlfriends....
strong, resilient, hilarious, brilliant.
not that we have any messes
to talk about or clean up.....
oh no!
we just tell funny upbeat stories ;)

I was driving back to my office after delivering a presentation, Miss Muskie style, thinking about the new connections I had made with a classroom full of human beings who had dropped out of school and had returned to give it a go again. It must reek of failure to them on most days. Hopefully on other days, they look at the ugly building and see it as something they can conquer!

I spent a few minutes or so with them telling a few stories, sharing some crazy bits about me. Then I passed it over to them so I could learn at least a little bit of their personal stories and to find out what kind of information they wanted to gather from my presentation. There's no point standing up in front of any group like a blathering talking head passing out disconnected fluffs of information if there is no engagement with the audience. How boring is that? How rude is that? How typical is that??? Lectures get you nowhere especially when you are in front of a group who tuned out and turned off for that very reason........

When my daughter asked me this morning on the way to dropping her off at school, what I was going to talk about (I was there to give them information about College courses and upgrading options....) I explained the purpose and then told her what my plan was ...... how I would deliver it.... through a conversation .... one which I would set up by sharing a few goofy stories about my time at high school. She looked at me with THAT look she gives me (the same one my husband gives me actually) when she hopes I don't make a complete ass of myself. I reassured her that, YES indeed I would make an ass of myself if it engaged the class and pulled them into a conversation of sharing and asking questions. I don't care. I'm pretty much an open book when it comes to the STUFF I've shared.

This of course alarmed her 16 year old sensibilities even more. So, I dropped the subject and moved onto asking about losing one's virginity. That question didn't get very far. DAMN! It did make her laugh though. Oh, and roll her eyes. It wasn't an off the wall, out of the blue kind of topic, which I am prone to do. No, this random talking momma was simply continuing a conversation which had begun the night before when I was informed of a few teen girls who are preggers at the school, and the conversation my daughter had with one of the future Daddios.

Who. is. 16. and lost .in. the. weird. world. of. make. believe. playing house .in. somekindof. mom. and. dad. drama. Like reality tv. Sadly, he thinks he's going to be able to turn off the channel.

This fantasy is brought to you by unfulfilled love and belonging needs, parents who refuse to let their children take SEX EDUCATION because one does not PROMOTE premarital sex, one PROMOTES abstinence and the idea that our bodies are dirty (by NOT talking about it) so don't be talking about erect penises and where they shouldn't be place ...... , thereby fostering a daughter who doesn't know the basics of intercourse and what to do with all those stirring feelings. This fantasy world is exacerbated by wacky religious rules where A: If you have sex before marriage you will go to hell. and B. Let's fix this fuck up by getting you two little ones married just in case God was a bit busy and didn't see the end product of the backseat rumbling fornication and will let it go. This time. ....And C. You better make it work, because if you divorce you will go to hell too. Good luck......... change your plans, drop your dreams and move on......... Praise be to Jesus.

So, I was merely extending the conversation we began last night. When she jumped out of the car to get the hell away from her crazy ass mother, she was laughing as I was babbling on about the myths of "being on the pill" and got pregnant anyways, or the condom broke. Over my explanation that there has only been one documented immaculate conception, my beautiful daughter told me she loved me, shut the door and scurried off to escape the lunacy left behind the wheel of the van. Off she went. My God, I love her.

And off I went to meet a group of people I expected hadn't fit into the regular system we embrace as public education, knowing a couple of them would most likely be teen moms whose bright innocent faces now had a look of shock and awe on them. Maybe a couple of young dads in there too unable to comprehend anything beyond wanting to escape into the smoke of a doob, a chat room and a few riffs of Guitar Hero. DUDE!

Unfortunately, I was right and eventually spent a couple of hours with a group of students sitting in a semi circle. Their classroom was tucked away in the upper reaches of high school beige fatigue, amongst other classrooms filled with unengaged teens looking everywhere except at their teachers at the front. How do I know this? I glanced in many as I walked towards room number 226. It hit my gut with a vengeance of memories. Oh, how I hated high school. It all came rushing back in a pit of anger as I realized that not one blasted thing had changed since I sat in class lala land dreaming of camp, parties, kissing boyfriends, catching up with girlfriends, weekend ski trips, ANYTHING but the blahblahblah of the talking head at the front of the class. Boredom ruled the day then. Boredom ruled the day today.

I decided to take it up a notch and be as nutty as I could in front of the classroom......... share feelings, ask for feelings. ASK THEM what they are thinking, feeling.......... what they did on the weekend. How are they FEELING being back at school. What kind of jobs would they like to do....... stir, churn, make them squirm a bit. Make them laugh! Offer them a chance to express themselves. Luckily, their teacher was all for it. Hurray!

In the end, there was talk of many different types of training and career options and if they had an idea, I threw three more at them that were similar as an attempt to expand their thinking. They shared their interests and unshaped goals. More importantly, they shared some of what makes them tick. One of them did fall asleep....the one with the youthful baby face very bright red flushed cheeks. I don't think he was feeling well. And even if he was fine, I didn't care if he fell asleep. He obviously needed it. Who the hell knows what he has to contend with on the homefront??? He's in this class for a reason and guaranteed it ain't a pretty story with a happy ending.

On my way back to the office, as I listened to music, I began to think of the messes we fall into as human beings of how our lives are filled with drama, conflict, angst, disorder, excess. Excess in so many areas..... Abuse of all kinds. Unfinished business, unsolved problems. Our coping is maxed out as we turn inward or outward, depending on our style. Big emotional barriers form shielding us from hurt or resolving anything. WE try our best to bury our heads in the sand as the chaos of our lives get messier and more complicated. We lose focus, drop our values, run away, sleep with the first warm body that pays attention. We drop out, crawl under the covers and play the victim. Until...................??

We live in the drama we create. Not that the massive wounds many of us carry as heavy painful burdens are our fault. They aren't for the most part. But, we create the ongoing drama that follows it by trying to avoid healing and forgiving and moving forward. Healing ourselves, forgiving ourselves and others.......... finding resolutions. Finding a way to surrender and soften from the PAIN.

hmmmm. I wonder if many of the messy messes we make are because we are suffering from boredom? Or are we just too numb and need the excitement of the drama?? Or maybe, just maybe we're doing our best coping?

Lives are not pretty for the most part. They are chaotically driven, eventful, emotion full, painful. They are also loving, exhilarating, absolutely STUNNING. Lives brim over with connections, disconnections, crapping times and clapping times. And you know what? The VERY best we can do for ourselves and others is to be open to sharing stories, to listen to the silence between the words shared, to affirm one another, to accept one another and to remind each other that we have the capacity to be happy. Despite the messy messes. Heck, maybe even because of them....

Love to you all........ don't be so DAMN hard on yourself. oh, and can you do me a favour? Share one of your stories with another person tomorrow. Just one. xx

Enjoy your messes ...... embrace the chaos ..... and never forget to laugh it off with a friend.

ps. jeez. I didn't even get to my afternoon or the drama of the evening. :) Oh yeah and tomorrow? I've been asked to confront a bully. My plan? I think I'll bomb her with love and then listen to her stories.

And the point is...............???

Goofy homework assignment completed...... written by Mr. Twisted Sense of Humour. Typed by his Absurdist mother.

Wanted: Dead or Alive
Max........for stealing the last chocolate chip cookie
Age: 12
Height: Short for a tall person
Weight: None of your business
Religion: The Toronto Maple Leafs Holy Church of Hockey.

His hair is the colour of the bark on a maple tree. His eyes are as blue as the berries that grow in his Great Uncle Max’s fields. His nose, located in the middle of his face is round like a looney. When he smiles, large craters form in the middle of his cheeks.

His family are notoriously late for dinner. His sister is sometimes seen on the stage pretending to be someone else. His hilarious father known for his knowledge of music and rhythm but lack of singing skills is also known for stealing chocolate chip cookies. His mother, once the organized person in the family has become obsessed with blogging and taking photos of people’s legs.

They all love hockey ….. except his sister.
They all love The Simpsons …. except his mother
They all love fiddle music …. except his father.
None of them like liver, smells or roadkill.
All of them love beachcombing for buried treasure and bits of rotting seaweed.

You may find Max shooting hoops or playing road hockey with his friends, listening to his I-Pod, practising guitar, (insert a mother rolling her eyes....yeah, lots of guitar practising going on here!!) watching 30 Rock on TV, or tossing the tennis ball for his beloved dog, Lily. However, you will most likely find Max planning his GREAT ESCAPE to Costa Rica as a notorious member of the CISV delegation. Psssst……Departure date is December 26th. If you don’t find him before then, you can arrest him at the airport before he embarks on his month long adventure. He will be wearing a navy blue hoodie with the words “All You Need is Love” written on the front.

If homework can't make you laugh, then what's the point of it???

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!

meetings....

I spent the majority of my morning in a meeting. Normally meetings make my toes curl in my highcut go-go boots and my bum shapely ensconced in my power suit skirt wiggle in the chair. I rarely get comfortable sitting through a litany of items and believe it or not (big surprise here) I can't keep silent. Sometimes to stay focused, I write erotic poetry and draw penises on the printed agenda. Today, however, I was at a monthly meeting I enjoy attending. Why? Because it is outside of the ho-hum bureaucracy, right in the middle of community where life happens right in your face. I didn't draw a single do-hickey and i somehow stayed clear of words that rhyme with stuck....

ok...i'll get serious now.....

Once a month for the past few years, I have been involved with a group of women who work in the frontlines with individuals and families who are living in domestic abuse situations. This network of community based organizations and a few representatives from a couple of appropriate government departments and the university formed after we were invited to attend a workshop on the topic and realized we were all doing good work, but doing it in separate silos. When we began to consider how complicated and convoluted the maze of services must seem to someone who needs to access them and access them quickly, we decided to form a network in order to learn more about one another thereby being able to help someone in need more effectively. And it is working. If a person "enters" into the convoluted myriad of services through one agency but needs to access another, we now know who to call and how to help that person.

Two of us co-chaired the first two years.....me and a wonderful woman I got to know through this process who has run the Sexual Assault Centre in town....and for many years the only one in the province. Like any new group, we scrambled and stumbled a bit at the beginning before we could figure out a first year gameplan and some guidelines. The first guideline....no bullshit. We meet for two hours once a month, the minutes are roughly taken by whoever pulls the short straw and not all anal retentively compiled and collated and sprayed with perfume. Key stuff is documented and distributed through email. No big whoop. The second guideline....keep the atmosphere relaxed in order to comfortably share feelings, concerns, ideas and information. Simple stuff, but warmly embraced by a group of women who just wanted to get to know one another in order to make sure the people in crisis who need the services are getting what they need.

Interestingly, the gameplan came out of the guidelines. The first order of business....sharing. For a year an a half, we all had a turn presenting information about ourselves, our career roles and backgrounds and the services our organizations provide. Because it was an open forum, we all felt comfortable speaking up, asking questions, gathering more information, offering suggestions and cleary, VERY clearly seeing the gaps in what our community was providing. And whenever we saw one, we tried to rectify it by inviting others to our network. For example, we realized very early that services for people living with mental illnesses weren't adequate for their needs when they found themselves in abusive situations and that many in the frontlines didn't know how to help them. We also realized that women and children of immigrant families, whose cultures and languages may be barriers to understanding the legal system, their rights in this country and then how to access the services when everything in the telephone book is written in English.

Since it's inception, we have created a directory for others to use and a flyer small enough to slip into a pocket or wallet with all the phone numbers of services needed for anyone who is being abused....everything from legal aid to safe housing.....from individual and family counselling to victim services. All of our offices and colleagues have copies of this to hand out. We've arranged for funding to begin providing outreach counselling and intervention services to rural areas in the region. We've shared the responsibility of facilitating various workshops to one another. My knowledge of the legal system is much more thorough than it was a few years ago, and it helps when I'm counselling someone who has just confessed to a life in hell and needs to escape it FAST. This spring, we are piloting group workshops for which will run in tandem....for Moms and their children....helping the Moms learn how to help their children process the violent experiences they have all endured.

All good stuff....
All good stuff.....

Our next project as we continue to spend two hours a month with one another (and doing much of the work in between.....) begins in May when we meet for a full morning to brainstorm the creation of a speakers bureau. Because one of the key aspects we have learned is that around the table sipping tea and coffee and swapping thoughts feelings and ideas is an amazing group of women who have a multitude of gifts and knowledge to offer to others. All ages, all backgrounds, all political and philosophical angles....are represented....in both official languages of this province and then some.


I get to lead this one. Can't wait to have a go at pulling out the ideas sitting quietly in everyone's noggins.....engaging them in a productive brainstorm that will include some serious talk interspersed with some good laughs to lighten it up. A speakers bureau......all having to do with Awareness.



good stuff....and it came out of a meeting. who knew THAT could happen.

ps.....just so you know...i don't own a power suit. i dress like a gypsy. it's much more fun.

simple gifts

'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free.'

Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be.

And when we find ourselves in the place just right,'

Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gained,

bow and to bend

we shall not be ashamed.

To turn, turn will be our delight,'

Till by turning, turning

we come round right

'Tis the gift to be loved and that love to return,
'Tis the gift to be taught and a richer gift to learn,,
And when we expect of others what we try to live each day,
Then we'll all live together and we'll all learn to say,

'Tis the gift to have friends and a true friend to be,
'Tis the gift to think of others not to only think of "me",
And when we hear what others really think and really feel,
Then we'll all live together with a love that is real.

When true simplicity is gained,
bow and to bend
we shall not be ashamed.
To turn, turn will be our delight,'
Till by turning, turning
we come round right

This is a beautiful hymn written by Joseph Brackett an Elder in the Shaker community of Alfred, Maine. When I heard it played during the inauguration, I automatically thought it was Lord of the Dance, one of my favourite chapel songs, because they both have the same tune. A friend of mine who came over to watch the ceremony with us explained that it is the hymn she sings at the end of every Quaker meeting on Sundays....Simple Gifts.

Today, I heard another version of this beautiful hymn which left me almost breathless. It was like the air all of a sudden turned thin with magic as time vacated leaving a scent of fresh pine and spring water. At the time when it was played, I was in a mad rush and was surrounded by mad disarraying thoughts. It brought me to a full stop appreciation of the empowerment of a hymn....

The hymns which touch a chord in us that hasn't been plucked in a while offer us a simple gift of our lives affirmed. They have the ability to make our dry eyes well up in fountains of tears. They soften even the hardest of outer shells. Hymns open our eyes to see the beauty in a moment of reflection which often is tucked in the middle of chaos. They can halt the immediacy of a crisis, can tear down the defences of an enemy, can hold out it's harmony in trucefull honesty, can express the indescribable, can bring people into a gathering place of peace Hymns can make you believe in the unbelievable.

No matter wherever you are or however busy you happen to be, please take a moment to enjoy this meditatively brilliant version of Simple Gifts. I think you'll agree with me. It's a gem.

unceasing to releasing.

Our minds churn and bubble with activity. There is not a moment in the day or night when we aren't thinking. We analyze, reflect, ponder, postulate, ruminate, daydream, drift and dream. As adults our thoughts seem so much more tangled and complicated. Our energy seems to leave our hearts colder and moves with friction into our heat zapping brains.

If we allow it, our thinking trumps our feelings like a lion would a lamb. It seems so much more aggressive as it feeds off our emotional simmerings, stirring up the voices which make you second guess yourself.

"Prove you are a good person...."

"You don't fit in........"

"Nobody really cares about you....."

"Why do you feel you are worthy? YOU aren't worthy."

"You keep screwing up. What's wrong with you?"

"Why do you think anyone can love you?"

The lamb within us becomes an innocent victim when the lion within us decides to pounce.

Our ability to think is our greatest gift, though there are times when it would be helpful if one could turn it off in order to avoid the guilt, shame, fears and anxiety it can generate. It is an isolating weapon producing paralyzing pain. When our thoughts turn on us, the pain feels like an unrelenting slaughter of the soul....one that is so difficult to stop. It is a quick swing of the pondering axe which can lead to self doubt and depression, especially if our thinking is hungry for fuel....if we are already in a wounded place.

How do we protect ourselves from allowing the roaring lion reflections to turn our lamb like emotions into a carcass? How do we internally fight off the attack of the nasty thoughts in order to find peace between the two animals? We need to take special care to hear the voice of the lamb. We need to release our thoughts, the harmful ones and the hopeful ones into a pool of prayer....where the attacking monologue turns into a dialogue with God. We need to listen to the small voice tucked deep inside...the one who reaffirms.....the one who will show us how to coach the lion to lay down with the lamb.

Listen for the love.....experience it as amazing grace. He never lies.

.....now, if I could only accept my own advice and not let the freakin' lion roar in my head....

faith

tiny faith by Marisa Haedike

Can I call myself a Christian if I have a strong unwavering faith based on strict boundaries and impenetrable rules? Can I be called a Christian if I show no empathy for another person's faith journey that contains sacreligious questions and doubt? I attend church every week, pray everyday and believe that the man is the head of the household. Women have their place as mothers and keepers of the home. Homosexuality is a sin. Masturbation is a sin. Abortion is a sin. Questioning God is a sin. Enjoying passionate sexual intimacy with another is a sin. Anyone who has the audacity to question the gospel deserves to go to Hell. My place of worship is far superior than other fraudulent churches that quite frankly water down the Word of God and allow their church members to discuss their personal interpretations like they have a right to. Is this Christianity?

Is faith always pure and steadfast or can it include pockets of doubt? Can I believe in God but not in some of the seemingly farfetched walking on water, parting of the seas stories? Am I still considered a Christian if I have a tough time swallowing the story of the resurrection as it is told after passing through many minds and hands of others? What is faith if it accompanies twinges of doubt? How can I find the key to my own dwelling in order to soothe my growling passions, my stirred up yearnings.....my desire to feel a sense of peace in my bones?

Can I be considered a Christian if I don't attend church regularly and stumble through the self conscious discomfort of prayer and never quite get it? Can I be considered a Christian person if my fears of death and skepticism of the afterlife leave me in a puddle of anxiety at 4 am?

What about if I can't hold my impulsive emotions and I let them out too much in a boost of ego driven frustration instead of doing that surrendering to God thing? Will God be patient with me as I continue to fuck things up on a regular basis as I try try try to figure out where I fit in bigger scheme of things? Meister Eckhart wrote ........ holiness is not based on what we do but rather on what we are.......if our ways are good, then our deeds are radiant. Can I still be considered radiant if some of my deeds lie within the realm of sinfulness?

Why do I sometimes crave that taste of sin? Why do we allow our fears to leave us in what Father O'Donahue describes as a state of hunger in the famine of our own making? Is the taste just too alluring or could it be that we need cross the threshold to dip our toes and our souls into the open waters of the inner deep?

Any direction, answers, confessions, discussions...........will be warmly received....

random yappy-ness

two simple threads

one is mine

the other is yours
begin to unravel in technicolour
wrapping like ivy around a trellis
leaving little purple blooms
in their wake.

I have a confession to make. I'm a random talker. In my mind it seems better than being a close talker or a slow starter or a non thinking talker I guess, but I believe it may be as irritating to some, especially those who have the strong need to begin and end one thought before they move onto another. Personally, those anal retentive types drive me to drink. In fact, when I find myself face to face with someone like this, I have a very difficult time focusing on the one note they need to play. I lose my train of thought. I have to really concentrate, especially if it's in a social situation, because my brain is tick ticking off in tangents.......so much so that i have to stifle the urge to WHOOOOSH.........take off on one of those topic tributaries.

I love the tributaries I guess.....stay on the main river and it's all been seen and heard before, but paddle down into an inlet and you never know where you'll find yourself.

It's not like I can't be linear when I'm communicating with someone. I am counsellor and trainer by trade for goodness sake. I have to be a bit disciplined. Though when I think about it now, the best counselling and training moments have been when things just flowed as it unfolded. However, as the lead in those situations I do have to be "on my game" or it would never make sense. I have to know what tributaries to pursue.

Writing is the same. If I want to get my point across, I have to stay within some kind of parameter or no one would read the tripe I write about. Not only that, I'd never finish anything. Random communication, whether it's speaking or writing has to have some concreteness to it. But if I had to describe my comfort zone, the place where I feel the most relaxed, it's when I don't have to reign myself in. I can let it fly, firing on all synapses without feeling like I have to slow down my ideas and thoughts.

I have a friend who used to be my supervisor and is now a sounding board support when I need him the most. What I love about him is his enthusiasm for ideas and his encouragement. He always takes the time to help me generate my abstract thoughts and the pictures in my head and somehow manages to encapsulate them and reflect them back to me. He allows me to be free to take flight, and I must admit that it always blows my mind when he is able to make some sense of what I have had to share with him! I always leave his office feeling so good.......especially after a long time in between connecting with him because as a random talker, I have a tendancy of storing it up until I have a chance to let it all hang out. Months can go by, and all of a sudden I wake up and have this unquenching urge to phone him and arrange to meet. It's like I've hit a saturation point and need to vent. Because he encourages me to use my brain and to unravel the ball of wool inside my head, I figure he must get some satisfaction out of the mental exercise. Or perhaps he's being nice. Maybe, he takes a swig of scotch just before I arrive in order to cope with my verbal discourse and then takes a nap when I leave!

Random talkers and thinkers definately need people in their lives who ground them. Thank God there are a few around me. What's interesting is that I am considered a "grounder" for some who seek me out. Maybe that's what mentoring is really about.

I also have a few friends socially whom I would label as random talkers. Its a breath of fresh air when I'm around them, and I have a feeling they feel the same way because they too can relax and let it flow as it unfolds. Tonight, one such friend was over for dinner......and it was an impromptu arrangement too. Personally I love spontaneity like that........to me it goes with the randomness. But for her, it was a huge deal to simple say yes on the spur of the moment. Maybe she also needed a night of random yapping. Well, I know she did, because we flew through 50 different topics all in one conversation. It was grand!


What is so interesting, and I realized this tonight in the middle of talking about something completely different is that most random conversations usually do have a theme, or they have a core to the subject matter which seems to rise up from the debris to be revisited time and again throughout an evening. This is what usually happens..........

The conversation will start up without any effort whatsoever.......usually beginning with sharing a common interest thing............"have you read that article..........." or "did you hear so and so interviewed the other day........." or "I saw something the other day and I thought of you because......" It's usually seems like it's going to be a one trick pony kind of chat, but with two random talkers? It turns into a buffet table covered in too many treats to consume. And yet, there is one big blossoming centrepiece which is revisited over and over. You just see it from different angles.

Tonight, the theme was the presence of faith and how it underlies all of our decisions, whether it's embraced or not. DEEEEEP! However it didn't have a feel of a dissertation. Rather, it was a culmination of shared thoughts that began the moment she arrived while standing in the kitchen as I poured the wine and prepared dinner and never stopped. It was GREAT.

Can I just make an aside point here in the middle of this post? Do you know difficult it is to write about random talking in a linear fashion?? HOLY! I have about 30 different examples and stories I want to explore and to share firing through my brain right now. Oh, and yes I have been asked if I was ever diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder.......by two random talkers! My response to them both? "I know you are but what am i??!" I mean really, who are they to ask such a question? :)

OK, back to the post......hmmmmmm.............



I'm thinking right now............right at this very minute.........that perhaps random isn't the way to describe it. From an insider view, it doesn't seem random at all. In fact, it seems more logical and more linear than other kinds of conversations. It just looks like it from the outside, because two random yappers somehow form a bubble around them. It's like the world has ceased as they connect on a level that transports. When you're in the bubble of thought, theres a union of the mind. Time races by unnoticed. Music playing in the background floats by. A whole drive somewhere happens without much gawking out the window of the car.

Most of the time, I'm aware of the fact when I'm with someone who isn't comfortable with this type of tete a tete. They find it tiring and mostly intimidating and if i'm not careful I can blow them away. I know this, because it's happened in the past when I have found myself on some tangent or am feeling restless and in need of a blood letting of thought. Can you see how writing and blogging is a friend for someone like me? It's a gift from the Big Guy, let me tell you.



Oh, I can spend inordinate amounts of time in my head and be very quiet. I love time alone not talking to anyone. I love spending time with someone I care about and not utter a word. I can putter about my day and not have a single indepth conversation and I'm completely fine about it. I hate talking on the phone, especially during the week after counselling/teaching all day long and when I'm in the middle of teaching a workshop, the last thing I want to do is head out for lunch with a group to rehash. I need to stay in the zone so to speak..........to stay focused so that I am at my best to lead a group through a learning process that will include many trips down tributaries.


Last night, one of the topics covered was my friend's recent trip with her husband to Victoria BC(who btw was having a random talk with my husband who I personally love having long undulating conversations with, he woo'd me that way). It's been many years since I spent a summer there working, so I had many questions and wanted to know much about their trip. She spoke of the long walk she and her husband took along the coast of the city. Such a beautiful place. Anyways, it reminded me of the boyfriend I had that summer and a walk we took and after my company had gone home, I started to unravel the memory.

We met in a bar. Nice start eh? Oh, and I should also add that he was a sailor. Yes, I met a sailor in a bar......big strappy muscle man sailor guy with a smile as.........? He asked me to dance. I consented. We danced one song and while we waited for the music to begin again, we began chatting........name, rank and serial number stuff.......for about 30 seconds and then he jumped into some topic of some sort and we were off to the races. We stood on the dance floor surrounded by others (can't remember if we danced again........I think we did) but we ended up talking and talking and talking, flying from one topic to another. We yapped for so long that all of his sailor buddies (who had dared him to ask me to dance) had left the BAR! After we got off the dance floor, we sat down at the empty table and continued until last call. We covered the gamut.....including as I recall a long conversation about morse code of all things! He had just placed first in some morse code competition, which personally I found hilarious but also curious about and given that his buddies had filled him up with good west coast beer, and given that he was way more extroverted than even me, he regaled me with story upon hilarious story!



A couple of weeks later, after he returned to port..........does this not sound like a dime store novel???.......... he called me and asked me out. We decided to meet downtown in Victoria at a tearoom since we lived on opposite ends of the city. We sat in the corner drinking tea..........drinking tea with a sailor!..........and the time flew by. We had much in common........ interests, where we had grown up, dreams etc. After what seemed like 5 minutes but was more like three hours, we closed the tearoom and headed out for a walk. Our random chatter accompanied us as we walked along the cliffs of the Victoria harbour taking in the view of Mount Baker located across the way in Washington state. The wind was blowing, the sky was big and the path we walked on was sometimes so narrow that we had to go single file. At one point, we crossed a crevice walking along a huge log. We continued sharing our thoughts over the din of the wind until we found an alcove cut into the side of the cliff looking outward.......big enough for the two of us to sit in and take in the view. It was breathtakingly beautiful.



We both went comfortably silent in the blare of the wind....the randomness had left us while we took in the view of the crashing waves and moving clouds. My own thoughts revolved around how large the universe looked from this vantage point and how small I felt in the middle of it. I also felt so alive and knew i would never forget the moment as i lived it. My random talking sailor? He turned to me and echoed my own thoughts.........."even though I feel so small right now in this big vast world, I feel so alive. There is no other place I'd rather be." Just what a girl wants to hear from her sailor man. :)

We had begun our conversation jumping around like two crazy people, but we ended up in just the right place. This is what happens most of the time with two random talkers. It may not look like they know where they are going, but for the most part they end up where they should be.