love is a direction...

Soft shoe meandering tonight after a week swarmed by the buzzing energy of meaningful connections.  Beautiful, heartwarming, across the waters, fingertip lightening connections.  Front and centre, within my reach, embracing arms connections.  Over the phone, face to face, smiling eye recognition.  

Affirmation from voices, from looks, from shared stories..... texting flirts.  Texting facts.  Texting observations, feelings..... Humans expressing stress.  Fear. Delight. Gratitude.  Humans responding to my request for help with open arms, with encouragement.  Humility.  Me responding to someone else's needs.  Gratitude and humility.  

We help each other.  Its the best we can offer.  Love directing.

I held a newborn this week.  Cuddly little sleepyhead in caterpillar purple.  Sigh.  Time stopped as I inhaled the sweetness of her tiny being. 

Hips groove to a reflective tempo tonight.  Jazzed up salsa with feathery drum touches filters through the airwaves to surround me in upbeat momentum.  Not like a rave.  More like a spirit that moves its limbs like the body suit of a cat awakening.  High notes bleeding into the nostalgic earth.  It makes me feel grounded.  Barefoot on cool pine floors.....

I watched my children cocooned in their deep sleep..... burrowed under favourite covers.  Dreaming their own colours.  Their own beat.  Completely safe.  Utterly relaxed.  Sigh.  

I love late night radio..........  with its static touches from far off sounds beyond the woods.  Down a well travelled road.  Along the winding river darkened by a starless sky.  Settled under streetlamps moistened by raindrops.  Never ending raindrops....  It brings music that shares its own stories from a musician's zone flow.  I can picture them completely immersed in creating emotion from their strings..... making them laugh, cry, whine....... the human and the instrument blending together emerging from a studio....... from one microphone outward to reach my ears.  Absorbing it......

I listened to young love conflictions.  New complications.  Big flooding feelings and what to do about them.  His own Mom was away.  On the week he REALLY wanted her guidance.  I replaced his Mom for a short time.  He needed to tell me how happy he is to be with the girl of his dreams........ but what to do about the best friend who likes her too?  What to do?  I listened.  I asked......... tell me what you think you should do.  What do you think you're Mom would say?  He smiled......... and thought and remembered other coversations with his gentle soul Mom.  "Do what is right...."  she would've said........ Then, he knew how he would handle the conflictions.........

"Do you know what is right to do?"   It all depends.  On the complications  and the situation .......  

I'm tired.  Good tired.  Deep rooted gladness fatigue right down into the tips of my soaken soul.  

It wasn't all gladness.  This week.  No.  Sometimes it felt like I was pushing heavy air up a hill.  Sometimes, it felt like I was going to burst out of a tear bubble and land flat on my sorry ass.  Sometimes, all I could do was put one foot in front of the other.  Sometimes, I allowed someone to play hopscotch on my heart.  No soft shoe hopscotch. Heavy shoes.  It hurt.  It was confusing.......  It triggered my feelings of rejection to a point where I thought I'd be swallowed up again. 

Then, something would happen to turn the rain clouds upside down.  

Like a reunion with someone I can shed inhibitions.... let go of the roles, the masks........ escape for a while.  

Like meeting a new friend who burst into my life like a rainbow of blending personalities.  We only talked for a short while, as we shook our heads wondering how the heck we had never met before.  So much in common.  

Like watching my friend cross the finish line after running her very first 1/2 marathon on sore sore feet and a wonky muscle in her back.  She bested her time by a whomping amount.  How bursting proud I was of her overcoming so many personal and winter weather obstacles to be able to run with her head held high and all of us watching her achieve this goal.  She's now soaking her feet in Rome on a trip with her Mom.  The first time they've ever been able to get away together just the two of them. 

Like seeing the pre-midterm nervousness zip through my daughter's whole body only to see her hours later relieved that all of her hard work paid off.  Her smile melts my heart.  Her hugs melt me too.  A month from now, she'll be graduation from high school and heading off to camp for the summer.  Bittersweet life forging ahead.....

Like seeing my son........ with the crackling voice galoomp into the kitchen with new long legs raring to share a few funny stories from his day............... head in the cupboards looking for crackers!  His delight peaked too when he found out that the trip to Toronto next week is now on the agenda.   My 13 year old off on an independent adventure.  Am I ready?  He is.  I am. Maybe.

Like accomplishing the practical things around here.   Painting my bathroom, even hanging up the heavy mirror on my own without breaking it!  A guy named Shirley fixed my lawn mower and gave me shit for not properly storing it for the long winter!  Ooops!  Thanks Shirley.  Next week, a big hearted man named Edgar will fix my front steps.  It's all happening........... so often this spring I've been overwhelmed by these practical things.  Now, I see progress......... Upside down clouds! 

Like having a friend lending me her black heels to wear to a fancy dress ballet gala at the last minute so I didn't look like a flat footed underdressed fool beside my man in his tuxedo.  She is always one phone call away.  Just up the hill.  My angel.  

The music is becoming more ethereal, more experimental as the night lingers on.......... as my thoughts and feelings float down into my soft shoes......

And I remember that today, a stranger man my age called me Kiddo! He said......... " you helped out a lot Kiddo...."  after I tried to lighten up his anxious moment of having all of his groceries come tumbling out of the back of his SUV by informing him that he had just been struck by the luck of Friday the 13th!  

Kiddo!  I patted him on his sleeve and wished him a good rest of the day!  Our eyes met.  We smiled.  Then drove off in our own direction.  

Did you know that love is a direction?  Did you know that you can choose that direction?  You just have to put it out there.  

This week, I took a risk or two.  I put it out there.  And what came back?  Well, you guess.  It was beautiful.  So marvellous that I stand here tonight in my soft shoes smiling a sense of gladness and fatigue, looking forward to crawling under my own favourite covers and letting the dreams find this young little Kiddo. 

Thank you to everyone who made my week so fulfilling, challenging, loving, encouraging and important to me and for allowing me to truly begin to put my once quiet thoughts and plans "out there....."  I have miles to go before I sleep. Tonight though, I take a break ......... and soft shoe my little tushie to bed. 

give us this day.......

Have you ever stopped at the end of the day when nighttime chimes its call to slumber and asked... Why was I given this day?  Tonight, as I try to answer, my mind seeks out a beginning point only to find a series of other questions rolling out of the original one.... 

What seeds did I plant?

What seeds did I sow?

Who touched me with their presence, both in person and from afar? 

Whom did I touch? 

Learning....what did I learn? Was I able to pass on any of my knowledge?

If I could capture the essence of feelings that accompanied me today, what colour would they be?

Who did I remember?

What did I do and how did I feel while I was doing it?

From one seemingly simple question, a plush red carpet rolls out of my reflections revealing more to consider.  Each one offers a gift of a deeper look into the day I was given as a gift.   In prayer, we request from God,  "give us this day our daily bread...." sustenance to thrive on.  We request this.  Upon reflection we can assess how we utilized this gift of days we are given that make up our lives.   

Did I stop.........just once to look around me ..... to see the beauty of my surroundings?

Where did I find the beauty?

Did I stop ... just once to look around me ..... to see the woundedness in my surroundings?

What shocked my senses?

When did I laugh?  

Did I reveal frustration, anger, confusion or did I stuff it inside because no one wants to see those big time uglies.  

Did I allow someone else to express the uglies, to help them rid them? 

What did I create today? 

How did I stretch my imagination?

How did I challenge my sensibilities?

What made me uncomfortable? 

Who was with me in spirit helping to guide me at some point today?

Did loneliness come to visit?

Why was I given this day......?

Was I kind to someone?

Did I scatter more seeds than I sowed?

So many of our days, we push through the 24 hour cycle like our lives are situated on top of a treadmill, our pace the same, our steps the same in order to keep going, keep balanced.  Maybe we need sameness because our lives are just too startling and stressful at the moment.  Just to "get through" them is a feat.  Maybe we dread stopping for fear of being accosted by the stark realities burdening our hearts, weighing heavily on our shoulders.  Maybe we skip through a day with a madness of last minute shopping before Christmas and forget that its the joy of giving, the satisfaction of finding just the right gift for someone we love not the completion of the never ending list of "to do's" that matters.  Some days seem so lacking in any stimulation that you feel like you've lived it over and over again. 

I'm left wondering if perhaps these are the kinds of days when asking the question...... Why was I given this day ...... matters the most?

Ask the question, the treadmill stops.  Ask the question and the opportunity to nurture the startling stress with attention happens.  Ask the question and the burdens are acknowledged and greeted by awareness.   Ask the question and that omnipresent fear of being alone is filled with the real connections you made with others......... face to face, over the phone, through an email, on facebook, at the store, passing someone in the street, at work, in the classroom, out in the parking lot, in your mind's eye. 

Did you know that there are at least 3 people out in the big old world who not only thought of you, but love you too.  You may not get to see them every single day, but they are out there rooting for you!  Cheering you on!

Ask the question to God?  "Why was I given this day God?"   He's a good sounding board.  However, chances are like a good therapist (the ultimate therapy dude, really) God will reflect the question back for you to answer.  "You tell me.... Why did I give you this day,"  He asks...... and you're left figuring it out, with His supportive touch guiding you through the perplexities any opened ended question promotes. 

Before the darkness around you folds into your own internal quiet lights out, let your dreams evolve from the abundance of silent reflections.  Let your day flow into the refreshing slumber with your gaze be filtered by a sense of resolution. No matter how difficult or trying it was, it can be transformed from an ordinary day on a treadmill to one that actually mattered because of the gifts you gave and received yourself.  

I may never have all the answers I want by the time I'm sound asleep....... sometimes the questions keep me up way after my bedtime and that's alright.  What I do know is that if I take the time to ponder, even the most wretched day holds a few gems.  And if I know I have a handful of gems, it seems to make the struggles all the worthwhile.

So, tonight I ponder, and peak into the wildness of my broad question.......  "Why was I given this day?"  To fill with as much life as I could..........with as much colour as i could.  And I believe I accomplished just that.....

Now its time to dream........of you.  Why?  Because you are with me every day.... in my actions, in my feelings, in my imagination, and in my soul.  You.  And I thank you for sharing this bountiful life with me.  Little did you know, but you eased my suffering, added to my joy, challenged and stretched my abilities.  It was you and the connection I have with you that turned this ordinary day into a recognized bouquet of blessings.

 

wings

I'm in the market for a new pair of wings. As much as I'm attached to the pair I own, it seems like I have to flap them more often to reach a point of take off.

They are comfortably worn lovely wings that have developed a multi-hued sheen over the years.  If you look closely at them you can see phyllo layers of reflections. Peeled back carefully,  the layers tell my story....my journey.  If you look very closely, you can see the tiny nicks and tatters where awareness shimmies through.  Bits of enlightenment too. Perhaps that's also where the air  friction flows, slowing me down, forcing me to use too much energy.

My wings are my legacy, my individual unique fingerprint fabricated  experiencing life and ALL that it has to impart. They started off as tiny gossamer transparent wings fed and nurtured by my parents' unconditional love, by my grandmother who taught me how to explore the nooks and crannies of our neighbourhood by seeking the backroads less travelled, by the mentors who took me under theirs and shared their gifts.

My wings stretched and grew as I did. The transparency began filling in with gorgeous rainbow colours, flashes of sparkle interspersed with earthy foundations.

I was lucky.  They started off strong, and continued to develop resiliency  with every connection I made in my world. Friends, sisters, aunts, uncles, grandparents, teachers, mentors, lovers, kindreds wove threads of confidence into the character of my very own wings as I grew up. And,  with every life experience, magical dust fell onto them.......some which weighed me down, and some which helped me to fly. They have been everywhere with me, carrying me across adventurous fields I sometimes didn't even know existed.  Yes, I've covered miles and miles of memories, captured in the layers and the sheen.

Let me step back and look at them again from another angle.

Wow! LOOK at them! I LOVE their colour!  So unique!  Their weathered  ends are a blends of joy and grief, of happiness, pain and wonder . Ah! the WONDER! Look at those nicks and tatters. I wonder if this is where enlightenment meets grace. Maybe the air filtering through the tears breathes the spirit needed to reach safe habours?  Do you think the nicks and tatters  are simply the chapter headings of my ongoing learning?  I wonder what I would name each chapter? 

New wings.........??? I dunno.  Maybe I'm more attached to these ones than I realized.  Besides,  where does one buy new wings? e-bay?  kijiji?  Should I test fly a few just to see if they boost my energy....my zip?   Do new wings come with training wheels or operating instructions?   What if I purchase them and find out a little while from now that my new wings and I clash? What then? Can I return them?  Do I really need a brand new pair of wings? How environmentally friendly is that?

hmmmmmmm........ I can't be tossing out a perfectly good set of wings that I have taken a lifetime to polish and buff can I?  They pretty well suit my personality.  But, for some reason I just don't feel like I'm using them to their  potential.  For some reason, they have  curled up ends and the tips are tucked under rather than stretched out. How did that happen?  How did I neglect these wings? 

Perhaps it's not the wings............perhaps its the need to approach the wind currents from a different angle so that the air flows through the nicks more effectively. Perhaps my wings just need a bit of crazy glue along the edges to help direct them across new fields, and a little bit of some magic dusting from those around me to help along the way.  

Maybe all that I need to do is readjust these wings of mine, while I step out into the frontier. To learn how to use them differently.  Maybe I can stretch out into new possibilities far more confidently if I can rely on the foundation that brought me thus far. It seems to me they have miles to go and adventures to experience through unchartered territories before they are laid to rest .  Me too.   

hmmmmm........ now that I look at them from this angle..... I feel like my wings are new again.  Only they seem more special because they have been nurtured by the accumulated stories collected along the way.   I have been blessed to be touched by so many......so many had their hand in creating my wings.  You know? I think I'll keep them and do a little retooling.  I'm not ready to give up all that they represent.  Those old stories threaded through the fabric of these wings are too important to toss out.  

Do you think they will help me soar right into the wilderness?  I hope so, because that's my preferred destination.  

wonder never looked so beautiful

When early evening stirs secrets of tangled sorrows wrapped in blessings, a rainbow forms  from a delightful cloud frontier.  Spontaneous smiles replace woeful fatigue.  The sun returns home in time to dance its last jig.  

Sometimes miracles are difficult to glean with the naked eye.  They are tucked away in hiding spaces and it takes such effort to seek them out.  

Sometimes, however, they radiate just beyond our touch but close enough for us to see them so clearly.  Miraculous fluidity arcing up into the dramatic sky, rainbows carry dreams woven in the fabric of reality.  They leave you speechless and smiling like a crazy person blessed by the magic of the emerging wild. 

These photos were shot by my daughter Martha who stood standing in awe on our back deck.  Wonder never looked so beautiful.  Do you see the flock of geese in the picture below?  Stunning.

Thank you Martha..... you are my beautiful wonder. 

tingletouch dreams

 

 

Lingering sentiments
echo in the cradled silence
of my thoughts.
Such clarity
I hear you....
Your voice strums
whispered yearnings
woven into coupling cries
making me
ache with desire to step over the edge
beyond fantasy
into a realm of firelight heat.
draw me into you......

so strange..... i swear your i felt your lips leave their tingletouch on mine. I knew it was you because it tasted like temptation and peppermint.

emotion motion........

I  have vowed not to use this venue as a dumping ground of vindictive thoughts and feelings as I plough through the reality that is my life at the moment.   It's too public, and it's just not right.  There's enough nasty mean mind pollution out there on blogs and websites.  It's also too permanent, and as we all know, feelings are fleeting.  

Know that I'm feeling deeply, pouring through the fear and sadness the best I can, and trying to learn from them.  I am doing this through much guidance of family and friends and through my own time alone.  I have sought out counselling for myself and serendipitously have connected with someone whom I will be meeting with in time to learn how to harness the gifts I have in new ways.  I am writing on the side, getting the BIG MONSTERS out of me so I can see them with my own eyes.   And I'm doing this knowing that I may not be protected as much as I would like to be from God, but I am fully supported.  My faith grows.  My understanding of myself and others grows.  And believe me, it's bloody draining!!!

Though some feelings wear out their welcome and stay around like a houseguest whose turned into an unwanted roommate, we must process them ..........read them, reflect on them.........look underneath them.  If we don't, they EAT us up inside and cause untold physical and spiritual damage.  

See them as helpful!! They are flags waving inside us.  Their purpose is to communicate messages we need to  listen to.  They help us move towards solutions, and teach us more about ourselves than we even want to know!  Emotional Literacy is all about recognizing the ticks and the tocks all the while giving them a name.    Emotional Literacy is all about allowing the feelings to stretch us into a place of discomfort so that we can soak in their motion and function.  So we can learn and grow.  They change us even if we fight the change.  

Yesterday, I sunk to a new low.  It was dreadful.  It didn't scare me, though I'm sure it frightened others.  I knew I had to sit right in the middle of it and FEEL or I would not move forward in the grieving that my heart and soul is experiencing.  I lashed out too.  In anger. I sounded like a sailor on a bender.  It's a strange feeling to be so deeply sad and angry at the same time.  The pain hurts.  It leaves scars.  It leaves new learning.  It leaves you vulnerable in the knowledge that no matter what, no one can take them away.  If you don't feel them, they turn inward and form a calcified crust of bitterness around your heart.  Then, you can't fully love or trust again.  I don't want that.  I want the opposite of that!!!!   

My counsellor told me................. tears are strength.  Its the first time I have heard that before, and it's the opposite message we have all been told.  The more I consider it, the more I agree with her.  As much as crying and tears are so tiring and messy, once you blow your nose, wash your face, throw away the snotty kleenexes, and have a nap all rolled up in a fetal position, you do feel stronger afterwards.  Pretty traumatic way to gain strength, but there you go.  Let the tears flow!!

When one is fragmented inside because of accumulated pain, or of chronic denial of the hurts, the truth eventually spits out in various ways.  Anxiety, depression, addictions, sexual outlets..... these are all examples of how the fragments pierce through the skin.   We seek out unhealthy avenues as temporary salve rather than mercy and salvation.  Sometimes our personal issues and history seems just so magnified and monumental.  Where do you start??  The point is NOT to figure out WHERE you start.  The point is just STARTING.  Anywhere.  With the first feeling that you claim.  Start there!!

In counselling, we never begin at the beginning...... rarely do I hear a "Once upon a time..." start in a session. Rather, the individual sitting across from me jumps into a story right in the middle of life.  It's like a tip of the iceberg and the more we converse, the more the story expands into the past and out beyond hopes and dreams.  More often than not, the "issue" does not even resemble the original starting point.  It takes a while to get to the raw truth.  You have to be ready for it, and find comfort that you are being heard before you share it.  Plus, you have to dig into the heart mine yourself before you may even KNOW what the issue is.  Rarely are the real reason for feeling the BIG MONSTER feelings float up to the surface on their own.  We are masters of cloaking them in coping mechanisms.

I want to be whole again and I will.  The only way I know how to do this is to be honest with myself. I will continue to find the strength through my blessed friends and family, through my writing, talking, walking, reading, through expressing myself as broadly as I can, through my tears as well as laughter.  If I do all of that with as much courage as I can, and with the truth to guide me, I know I will find a new place that will be as enchanted as this place used to be.  Maybe more so.  Along the way, I will stop and count my blessings because there are many!  I am grateful.

If I empty myself of those debilitating feelings and let them topple onto the ground to mix with the clay of all souls, my cup of life will be ready to be filled .  I want room in that cup for possibilities.  I just have to be patient and not move so quickly.  If I move to quickly, I topple to the ground myself. 

Perhaps that's where I need to be from time to time, on the ground mixing with the clay of all souls.  It's the best I can do...   Just like you. Just like you.  We are no different you and I. Feelings are universal.

the awakening of temptation

temptation may

steal away focus,

create internal conflict

shrug off moral reasoning

taste like nectar

leave a bitterness

catch your breath

tantalize thoughts

launch you into thin air

cry for freedom

frighten a grown man

start a new journey

tamper with dignity

strip down integrity

be gloriously sinful

stir a curious woman 
 shower you with shame

heighten your cravings

bait your spirit

harmonize two minds

be the answer to a great mystery

spark a lost soul

generate energy

kick you in the gut

knock you to your knees

create an obsession

fill you with shame

force you to confess
AWAKEN

leave you wanting more.

Temptation entices a wandering passion in need of affirmation with its spicy bravado.   It spins self control on its side, wrapping it in an alluring flame with mesmerizing dreams. It chokes discipline leaving it impotent to that charismatic  serpent and charms you into playing out your unrelenting wishes.  Acting on a tantalizing temptation may alleviate the trembling ache of emptiness or it can fuel the heart with an burning desire for more.  Is the allure ever beyond judgment, or does it always embody sin?   

What tempts you?  Have you decided to acquiesce?  

'tis the winter season of Lent. A time for dark soul reflections, confessions and forgiveness. Lead us not into temptation.........

fueling a dream

It begins as a flint striking steel, producing a spark hot enough to ignite tinder.  It continues as you add more heat and fuel but will only grow into flames if there is fresh air flowing through the woven bits of kindling.  One flint, one spark, bits of straw along with the surrounding oxygen and you've got yourself the beginning of a crackling fire.  

It begins as a faint idea toppling out of the friction between your head and heart.  A thought spark hot enough to ignite feelings of desire.  It continues as you add more passion and gathered information, but will only grow into a dream if there is fresh air, a spirit,  flowing through the woven bits of contemplation.  One faint idea, one spark between thought and feelings, bits of reflective yearnings along with the surrounding oxygen to feed the passion behind the idea and you've got yourself the beginning of a dream. 

So often our attempts to turn a spark into a productive fire, to turn a faint idea into a dream dies out before we have a chance to fuel it.........or to provide enough breath to keep hope alive.  It can be a disappointing process, filled with a sense of failure and not a lick of success.  All smoke and no flame. It can drag you down, and strip you of the desire needed to replenish.  You begin to lose the internal combustion as you try desperately to figure out why the flame didn't ignite. 

When for one reason or another we do manage to grow a dream, it almost seems like a miracle because it feels like it occurs against all odds.  There is a piece of a fulfilled dream, however,  that has no clear explanation as to why this one sparked brightly enough to broaden into something real and tangible.  This is where destiny dwells.........it's where a divine light shines.  No dream is complete without some mystery.  

All we can do is carry our flint/idea, a piece of metal (our thoughts and feelings) and a pocketful of straw and twigs (reflections, contemplations, ruminations).  All we can do is offer our spirit..........our air to oxygenate our thoughts and feelings to turn them into action.  A dream needs heat, fuel, air and a little bit of divine intervention to come alive.  

You also have to put words to it..........you have to vocalize it or else it will just remain a haze of smokey illusions.  When was the last time you shared a dream idea with someone? 

Just for the record?  I really really really want to visit the Island of Iona.  

peace and temptation.

Is peace ever the result of following through on a temptation?  Seduction of the senses so often awakens in us a longing to fill an emptiness we may not even be aware of until our attention is provoked by an alluring invitation.  Bathed in light, we become mesmerized by the flirtatious mirage off in the distance.  Thoughts hone in on the hunger pangs pulsating with desire which turn a "want" into an unrestrained illusionary need.  They hum cloaked lullabies to our longing spirits.  Our senses become rattled by the charming dare of temptation's shiny gleam, by the instant gratification of satisfying mouth watering urgency.   

Need it, want it.....just a little taste.... just a little spoonful of dare's sweetness.

Sometimes we succumb.  Challenged by its calling........its invitation to accept the dare, we step closer to the glowing light it bathes in and let it shower us with soothing rapture.  Sometimes we hold ourselves back by the very tips of our sensibilities, like we are clinging to a ledge. The temptation remains alive, breathing down on our shivering flesh, reminding us of its ever present bite.  Sometimes we can face the alluring energy with resolve, by controlling the blood red blush we initially feel during the first encounter. We choose to step away.   

Three very different endings....... and I wonder if peace can be held again in the palms of our hands no matter what door we choose to open at a given time in our lives. Life is never void of temptation.  

We are never perfect in the choices we make.  If we can forge on towards new awareness, new understanding of what we as individuals hunger for, we can reach a place where we re-introduce ourselves with humility.  Temptations are fraught with lessons.  Their daring bravado can enlighten new learning, and can offer opportunities to reach a place where we can shed our ways, where pleasurable fulfillment leads to consequential truths.  Humbling in all its nakedness isn't it? 

An apple anyone?

This week's tempting word prompt is Dare.  This time of year, our temptations challenge us with such cheekiness.  The little daredevils!  Check out other interpretations at Sunday Scribblings.  I double dare you.........

a dream....wanna figure it out for me??

A couple of weeks ago, I had a strange, strange dream that was so vividly detailed that it felt like I created a story in my sleep.  The details have remained with me.  They haven't faded whatsoever like most dreams that meet me when I wake up.  I've shared it with a few people, but this is the first time trying to encapsulate it in words.  Here she blows.........................

It begins with me entering the dining room located in an old historic building (for the folks from around here it was the restaurant at Kings Landing).  Though I've never been to this particular place in real life, in my dream I knew exactly where I was.  The dining room was decorated with dark wood.  The tables were harvest style, but darkly stained.  A huge fieldstone fireplace made the place feel so inviting, so cozy.  Seated at the table were 12 or so people... all familiar to me.  Strangely, the collection of people, who are friends of mine, but they don't know one another in real life.  In the dream, however, they do.

There was a strong feeling of sadness coming from this group.  I felt it right away.  So, I approached them and asked what was wrong and was told that a mutual friend had died.  They had all just been to her funeral.  I was stunned and shocked by this news.  The name of the person who died in my dream was never stated.......though I have a picture in my head post dream of what she looked like..... and she resembles no one I know.  Still, I was so saddened because she was young and had just had a baby.  The baby was present with this group of people.  About 8 months old, he seemed oblivious about losing his mother.  He was the kind of infant who is smiley and not fussy at all and enjoyed being passed back and forth from adult to adult who all took comfort in interacting with him.

I asked if I could hold him and he was passed to me right away.  I stood there and held him for a while, unconsciously rocking him in my arms while I spoke to the group, asking for details of the death and the funeral etc.  Then, I walked away with the baby, out of the dining room and down a long carpetted hallway.  Feeling such grief, I decided I just needed to walk slowly on my own while cradling him.  After a few minutes, all of a sudden, a strange sense of peace came over me and the knowledge that the friend who had died was alright.  She was safe and peacefully surrounded by loved ones who had passed on too.

Then, I was struck with the intuition that I had been "informed" of this information somehow through the baby, who was comfortably settled in my arms staring and smiling at me.  Of course he was too young to talk.  Still, I asked him and through some kind of telekinesis, he communicated to me that he was a conduit to the otherworld.  He could communicate with the dead and pass on messages to loved ones still on earth.  With this knowledge, I tried it out and asked him to find out how certain people were in Heaven and within moments, replies came.  It was astonishing!  I went back to the dining room to tell the others.......... and to tell them that our mutual friend, the infant's Mother was peaceful and happy.

They all rejoiced after learning and began asking the baby to contact others they had longed to know about.  It was a flurry of activity........... this communication line from where we stood alive and in the flesh to a place on the other side.  Throughout it all, I held the baby in my arms.  He continued to appear to be content and unbothered by the barrage of requests.  However, I could feel something changing inside him.  I could feel him aging and knew right away that the energy it took for him to connect with the dead was prematurely aging him. 

I told the group this.......... that our requests were impacting his development.  I told them that we should stop because the baby was using up his life energy in order to comply to our wishes.  But they wouldn't stop.  They didn't care.  It was more important that they communicate with the dead....... to resolve their issues, to pass on the messages they regretfully never uttered while their loved ones were alive, to feel the "presence" of people they missed dearly.  So important to them that they lost any empathy for the sweet little innocent baby I was holding in my arms.  I tried to stop them over and over, but they wouldn't listen to me. 

I stood there frozen on the spot as this baby continued to age inside and grow weaker in energy.  And the more I stood there, the more angry I became at their selfish self absorbed behaviour. However, I had no power to stop it. 

Then, I woke up, told my husband and completely creeped him out. 

What does it mean?  Does it mean anything?  I'm sure there are some symbols in it.... something interpretative, but I don't have a clue.  Can I just add that no hallucinagenic drugs were used during this episode? 

tangerine pink kisses

"Hey Muskie, can you encapsulate your week in one sentence?"

"Sure!  It was a week when I have been emotionally absorbed by funerals, cartwheels and human spirals.  In other words, I was captured by deep sadness, relieving gladness and challenging madness."

"That's two sentences."

"oh.  Clearly I need an editor.  Can I add a bit more?"

"Why not?  You're the one with your fingers on the keyboard...."

"True....I AM the master of this domain.   No matter how sad, glad or mad it was, the serenity I felt at the end of today while driving home along the tranquil Saint John River towards the glorious setting sun filled me with awe.  Like I was smothered in tangerine pink kisses. Thank you God.  You blow my mind.  Daily."

November

As the full moon rises from the depths of the river bed, leaving its remnant glow on the ambling current, November's silence drapes the landscape with the last vestiges of warm golden light. The downturn of autumn looms.

Fragrant earthy decay settles into slumbering comfort. Traces of amber senses from leaves past their prime litter the pathways and mask the green grasstips on abandoned fields.

Somber moods steeped in burgundy passion yawn contemplative lyrics of longing. The land has been threshed, mourning the passing of time. ....the passing of lifegrowth.

The season of rustic thoughts, shared by ancestral hauntings is upon us. May we have the courage to listen to their ripened echos caught in the boughs of the pine, captured in the cold gales of a storm, wrapped in the forgotten sheds where ancient dreams have been laid to rest.

November is here. Crawl under the blanket. New dreams need to find the sacred germination from stories told by the firelight. It's time to share.

all my life's a circle..........

In the chilly hours and minutes,
Of uncertainty, I want to be,
In the warm hold of your loving mind.

To feel you all around me,
And to take your hand, along the sand,
Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind.
Donovan.....

The candles are burning bright tonight in my home as I write this. Lily, our trusty pooch, is monitoring the front lawn through the window looking for little trick or treaters carrying big goodie loot bags, all excited to be out in the dark on this blustery Halloween Eve. There is a combined sense of fright and delight.

I love Halloween. It truly does bring the neighbourhood together in a different way than on any other day of the year. Little Emma down the street, who is almost 4 years old (how did that happen??!) looked so adorable in her flowy pink wizard costume. Of course, Lily had to be the first greeter as she ploughed past me as I opened the door........... her tail wagging, a smile on her face. When we opened the door to Emma, it was a reunion between friends. I heard this tiny little voice exclaim.......... "Happy Halloween Lily!" Then, a big yawn came from the worn out wizardess, and a polite thank you without any prompting. :) So grown up!

Tonight, I'm have the house to myself. I chose to stay behind to hand out the Halloween candy. I'm too wiped out and physically feeling a bit off kilter. To combat a sense of weariness, I've lit dozens of candles and put on a CD chock full of the songs I love to listen to when I am in need of rejuvenation. It feels like a multi-sensory haven which has generated a sense of grounding and a lovely feeling of nostalgia wafting all around me. It's exactly where I want to be, reflectively soaking it all up.

Every single song that has played tonight has conjured up a photo album of beautiful faces, heart held memories ............... stuff that dreams are made of .... Within the tunes, I can hear intimate conversations, envision late night guitar picking, picture smiles and tears, reunions and shared walks. I remember boisterous campfires, spirit moving canoe paddles, nights laying on a floating dock looking up at a sky so full of stars. Close enough to wrap your hands around them. And then there were the nights when the northern lights danced up from the horizon. Oh my God, they are sight to behold.

It's the stuff that dreams are made of
It's the slow and steady fire
It's the stuff that dreams are made of
It's your heart and soul's desire
It's the stuff that dreams are made of.... (Carly Simon)

Connections to past and present feed an internal flame that propels me onto to the adventure ahead..... wherever that may lead, whatever it offers. While the music plays on, I fall into a place deep inside... where the ME in me is most authentic. To label it with feelings? A profound sense of gladness.

My gladness, however, is steeped in multiple layers of feelings, softened by a cotton gauze over the lens with which I view it. Tears spring forward, smiles too as I realize how much time has already marched on in my life and how FULL it has been thus far. I bring forth the living spirits of the people who continue to touch me .... the ones in particular who are far away in physical distance, but never ever far from my grateful heart. I kiss them all tonight. I kiss them all......

When rain has hung the leaves with tears,
I want you near, to kill my fears
To help me to leave all my blues behind.

For standin' in your heart,
Is where I want to be, and I long to be,
Ah, but I may as well, try and catch the wind.
(Donovan)

As the outside winds send welcoming gusts from the past summers in blustery autumn billows, I sit here surrounded by the wafting scents of candles and wonder what makes their flames flicker and dance in unison? I think I know.

I 'm not alone in this ultimate adventure called life. Let the music play on.....

It seems like I've been here before;
I can't remember when;
But I have this funny feeling;
That we'll all be together again.
No straight lines make up my life;
And all my thoughts have bends;
There's no clear-cut beginnings;
And so far no dead-ends.

All my life's a circle;
But I can't tell you why;
Season's spinning round again;
The years keep rollin' by.

Harry, keep the change, Chapin.

This week's Sunday Scribblings prompt is adventure. Mine is enhanced daily by my friends and family.... the beautiful people whose spiritual presence always make the candlelight flicker and dance and bring meaning to the music that touches my soul.

the pows and the wows.....

My days are filled with numerous moments, crackling with emotional intensity. Highs and lows, peaks and valleys...... deep soul interactions sprinkled in the grace of poetic lives.

At the beginning of the school year, I visited every classroom and introduced myself. I told them why I was there..... to listen to their stories, to help them find balance, to encourage and to support them as they focused on their studies. I shared a little of me .......... who I was, where I came from, what I could offer, and most importantly how glad I was to be there because it felt like home to me.

Come tell me your POWS and your WOWS stories, I said. And they have, in a steady stream of unrepressed confessions. Beautiful.

Mostly, I listen to their POWS........the ones that make them keel off to the side like a listing boat taking on water. There's an urgency in the voice, a red flushing of the skin, a wringing of hands, anxious movement. Tears held in for too long cascade.... sometimes attached to relief, sometimes accompanied by embarrassment. Sometimes their tears bring mine close to the surface when the stories pluck certain chords. In those time captured slices of life, there is a sense of intimacy only felt when the depth of the connection swallows you into its gulp.

My days are filled with numerous moments, bubbling to the surface like uncorked champagne. Effervescently complicated ruminations steeped in relationships soured by abuse, addictions, arresting apathy, broken down communication pour out into cups too small to hold the drink. Life champagne overflows too quickly to take sips.

Sometimes, the WOWs walk in..... to celebrate a popping cork accomplishment, an achievement, a decision..... a resolution. We toast the highs and the lows, knowing they often go hand in hand, knowing that crisis is the catharsis for much needed changes. We deserve the champagne. It's hard work being human. It's hard work recognizing the dented imperfections in our body armor.

ah..........but I sit in peace. tonight ......... is peace, and a little breathing space .... to reflect while inhaling deeply. I haven't had much of that, and I can feel the need to. I have this urge to go find a pew.

I am in a good place. Front row seat. High intensity sound. Multi-sensory upheavals and newly found calms. I'm finding my way helping others find theirs too. I can't tell you how much that makes me smile.

I am in a good place. Face to face. Deep glowing hearts. Wide eyed interactions. Connections where kindness and kinship grow daily.

A good place........ to learn, to grow, to experience, to teach, to listen, to guide, to feel the discomfort gnawing in souls. It makes a difference.

My days are filled with numerous tenderhearted moments of meeting, greeting, and being there to catch the POWs however I can. I guess you could say that I'm helping people turn their POWS into WOWs. I feel blessed.

soaking in familiarity

'Cause down the shore everything's alright,
You with your baby on a Saturday night,
Don't you know that all my dreams come true,
When I'm walkin' down the street with you......
Tom Waits, Jersey Girl

I'm a drifter ..... a mindflowing drifter floating in a bay of remember whens on an upturned umbrella. The cold rain showers continue to fall from the grey skies like sobbing sheets. Slick wet dropping goblets saturate the fields, and make the last vestiges of flowers bow their heavy heads in humilty. Walking down the street with you seems so unattainable and yet so irresistibly imaginable like it was not so long ago......or was it longer than I want to believe it to be?

My thoughts keep reclaiming the past, but it seems less real, more blurred by time. Its the same feeling I get when I'm in the car late at night, when the conversation is punctuated with sleepy comforting silence.... when the music playing through the speakers is soaked in the sounds of ancient smoking whiskey ... vulnerably real.

There are days from the past which creep up from out of nowhere and bite you in the arse, leaving their nostalgic signature. Are there days like this from your past? You know, the ones when longing wrestles with familiar breathing.... of air already surrendered. Special little personal history moments that seem so ordinary to another because they just don't resonate with the same deep meaning, all of a sudden reappear out of thin air. Those "just had to be there" feelings which are so bloody meaningful can so quickly fill me with a lingering glad-sadness.

Nostalgia has the magical energy to connect you with just one other person out there in this lonely planet, to leave you wondering what would happen if you picked up the phone and you said..."Oh, my God, do you remember when we.....????" Would they smile the same memorable lopsided grin and fall right into the same chasm with you? Chances are....

What holds us in a state of nostalgia? On those rainy grey days when twilight hovers in a state of flux, why do those homesick attachments revel inside our sombre souls? We send out our dream scenes to collapse in a cold puddle of vanity, hoping for something we can never grip onto again. Are we afraid of standing in the long now? Are we afraid our glory days have skipped past us? Are we afraid that we are no longer attractive to others in a naturally flirtatious youthful way? Why do we cling to nostalgia rather than focus on the here and now.

Holding on tight to our memories, like a miser hoarding cash, like a puppet gripping his strings, like a lost soul looking for a warm body, we avoid our present day anxieties. Drifting into stories from our long agos is an escape hatch from mundane and stress as well as a reaffirmation of self. Glad-sadness.... joy and sorrow meshed into one.

Sometimes, we need grounding. Sometimes, we need to reconnect with the moments, with the lovely loving people whom we shared them with. They remind us of who we were, and who we are, and who we may becoming. As I drift along on an upturned umbrella, soaked in the familiarity of lived out written scripts, I will recognize my need today to revisit moments from my past and use the tangible feelings to help me understand how I made it this far.

Not stuck, just visiting while the rain falls down......

.....and to think it all hit me when I walked into the room where Mr. Waits song was playing........whoosh...and I was there.

restless secrets

Hold on tight to your restless secrets if you want to. Sadly, I'm sorry to inform you they have a way of showing their true colours........ your body can't hide the stories. Your mind rattles outward, rippling your body restlessness in discomfort. Mystery reveals itself in your.......
sighing wandering woes
fretful fearful legs
skipping heartbeats
ringing ears
swollen joints
blurry vision
agitated guts
itchy skin
itchy skin
refreshed....and you keep scratching.........
itchy skin
itchy soul leaving you unable to focus.

Restless secrets gripe and groan the loudest just when you think no one's paying attention. When you relax. They spit reality onto your pillow of dreams.... in illusionary rainbow arcs. Try to keep them quiet and they will feast like head lice under your hair covered scalp belching in shameful agony.

Shame has a way of shooting out of sleeping thoughts. They retch up unspoken murmurs and swirl in a devilish weave of desire. Inside the brokenness of pain where ache feeds on restless secrets, your conscience rattles with tight lipped disdain. Denial simply stretches skin into a thin throbbing membrane disturbed by the unrelenting obsession to bleed........
Let it bleed.
Let the bleeding come.
Let it come
Come out! For God's sake!

"Deny yourself," said the Carpenter through your sleeping fog.
"Deny yourself.........."
What did He mean by that???

Restless secrets never sleep. They moan through silent dreaming and rise out of the foggy facade in the kingdom of makeothersbelieve. Your sorry storybooks are filled with tampered truth, with dormant devils of dismissed denials. Transparency blathers out the truth.

Let sleep linger on
Let sleep linger on and on...
And while you forever linger in the taut grip of a hot tightrope of fantasy napping, try your best to stay inside the sleepy mystery where your ruminating imagination soothes unspoken thoughts wrapped up in innocence past its due date.
let sleep linger....if you can.
Ignore, deny, suppress, create stories, try to live on.
My God, it's draining your energy.......

But,
If you open your eyes,
If you open your sores to dashes of salty sting reality
BE PREPARED
for wet spitting dreams on your pillow.
spit.
disgust.

You may not know yet but........
your mask slipped off.
That facade is a fateful fallacy.
And all I can feel is
sorry for you.

All I wanted was the truth. Was that so wrong?

If only you could poke at those swollen secrets
Make them blabblabblabblab away with relentless seeping
If only you could give them air
Give them life
Let those fucking secrets breathe
You'd be set free.
If only......what is stopping you???

Truth will set you free................. no matter what the cost.
no matter what the cost.
The freedom of your soul is more important than the restless secrets you keep.
It's never too late.
Never too late....

Pssssst.... guess what?
If you do decide to come clean....?
You will still be loved.
Unconditionally.