Trust-Me Boulevard.

 thin skinned beauty

The other day as I was driving home, I ploughed through a mass of dandelion fluff floating through the air.  Millions of feathery seeds once attached to a stem had  uplifted from the field beside the road and then got caught in a breezy travelling draft only to eventually disperse and settle to begin the cycle again on someone else's lawn.  My car parted through the fluff.  Before I knew it, I was on the other side this dandelion storm heading in the same direction.  Smiling.  It was a very cool experience.

I was reminded of this tiny burst of a moment tonight when I was trying to figure out where I've been and why I haven't been able to settle down enough to write.  I realized that whenever I've tried, I couldn't harness my thoughts.  I couldn't remain attached to the stem of an idea.   I have been emotionally, cognitively, physically uprooted.  Spiritually too. 

At first inward glance, I focused on the negative reasons.  We tend to do that don't we?  As much as I strive to be a "glass half full" person and can encourage someone else to alter their inward glances from the negative to a more productive positive, when I'm at my worst I can't make the switch very well at all.  So, I looked at it from that angle and this is what I saw...........

There have been days when I've felt like a train wreck and I'm so bloody busy trying to keep up with everything I have to do around here!  Exhausted, alone, overwhelmed.  Discarded.  I second guess myself.  I let my confidence sag like milkless breasts.  OOOOOoooooo!  I get all chilled and flushed at the same time even writing about it/thinking about it because the most predominant feelings that stream through me are shame and guilt. Failure. My emotions are so raw and on the surface way too much these days. There are many reasons for this which have left me with a sense of stalled vulnerability.... a heart open too wide and for too long.  This leads to serious brain flooding and over reacting!  And a jumble of questions........ ones that certainly don't have easy answers.

How do you love like you've never been hurt when you've been hurt?  How do you truly forget or let go of past shambles so that it doesn't impact a new relationship?  There has to be a way.  There has to be a different avenue.  I keep seeking.  I want the street I seek to be named Trust-Me Boulevard, but I think it will have a new name.  I just don't know where it is or what it will be called but let me catch a draft heading in that direction. Please! 

What happens if allow your inward glance to lean towards a more positive perspective? This is actually where I am tonight.  For the first time in weeks, I am breathing differently.  I think.  For now anyways.  No doubt I have been scattering my energy in too many different directions.  Scampering and scattering.  Unbalanced.  Seemingly floating in air without the tendrils to keep me grounded.  Caught in a draft.  Seeking and fearfully uncomfortable as I take new risks, form new relationships and TRY to juggle everything else in my life I must focus my attention on.  

However, it may not be such a bad place to be at all.  Challenging!  FOR sure!  Taxing? YES!  Messy?  YOU BET!  But, being in this place of transitional movement is ripe for opportunity.  I'm learning every day.  I'm also getting things done around here.  Maybe not as efficiently as I should or would or could.  But, I am.  New front steps.  Repainted another room.  Decluttering as best as I can.  I've got a load of gravel sitting in my driveway just waiting for someone to shovel and level it!  Any offers?!!  

The garden is blooming.  So are the weeds.  The lawn is lush green and where there were patches of winter kill, it is newly seeded.  The laundry isn't folded. There are cobwebs and dust in the corners of my home.  But my kids are thriving and so am I.  In spurts and starts and stalls and stops.  My love life is a bit of a minefield, but that's to be expected.  I'm learning to trust again.  Tearfully, fearfully, bravely.... in my own wonky way.

I'm also experiencing many many many light bulb awakening moments.  Big stuff!  Big blooming stuff..... like how messed up my boundaries are with the people in my life ...... and how much they have altered.  I'm learning that I have a long way to travel when it comes to trust again...... and I realized tonight that the name of the avenue I am looking for won't be named Trust-Me Boulevard.  Rather, the first street I seek out will be  Trust-IN-Me Place.  This comes with letting myself off the hook by stopping the shame and guilt feelings.  Acknowledging them of course, but then telling them to piss off!

If I'm ever going to be like that dandelion fluff and settle down again to begin a new cycle,  I have to be patient with the journey, and accept the fact that it will never be a straight arrow path.  Air drafts, like the pockets of unexpected life messes take you to destinations you may never have seen before.

Hey God are you around these days??  Will you take a moment to check on me... just for some reassurance.  Please let me learn to be more accepting and less sensitive to judgement.  Let me settle where I land.  Let me bloom there on Trust-In-Me Place.  I just know its where I belong........ it's where I can learn that hard lesson of loving again like Ive never been hurt.  Gotta trust in me first, right God? 

Love is a direction

He tells me his shoes are all scuffed from walking. ... Scuffed by the heaviness that make his knees ache under the burden and his arches throb from the extra weight.  His energy depleted, he can barely lift his feet.  Still he walks.  And walks.  With a shuffle.  A scuffed up suffering shuffle. 

At night,  he lays on his side of the bed, his body taut in buzzing anxiety, clenched jaw, tense muscles ... his unsettled heart fibrillating off beat. Erratic thoughts race through his dreams.  He is caught like a fly in a spider web as he volleys between questions and answers.   

 "I'm stuck in a place of indecision,  caused by too many to make," he says, "so I keep walking even in my sleep."

The bed....their bed......is now as comfortable as a concrete slab, unwelcoming in its reminder of what had been,  what IS, and what seems to be the conclusion....

brokenness

loneliness

fear

sorrow

guilt

shame

He can't think beyond immediacy and it hurts.  From head to toe it hurts.  His present moment has become a slivering doubt, with the lament of the past merging with the heart thumping anxiety of the future.  When he awakes from a dreamless night, his whole body aches from restless wanderings, steeped grovellings of ungranted forgiveness. It takes every ounce of energy not to roll over to face the wall as he makes himself sit up to a wave of unwelcome bile brought on by realization that its over.  It's over. 

But life still goes on despite the grief of his clenched  soul. Work, bills, meetings, appointments, family, errands, responsibilities ... listening to the drab complaints echoing all around him. There's no escaping the hum of a scuffed life.

"I have to maintain the grip," he says, "because if I let go even for a second I will fall off the ledge and break into a million pieces.  I wouldn't be fixable. It would be the end of me." So he holds on, fingertips on ledges, hoping the nightmare will end.

With memorized motions,  he shuffles off to work, his hands closed tightly,  stuffed in his pockets. He walks against the bitter  April wind.  His breathing's short snippy gasps lacks fresh air oxygen.  It shorts out his thinking,  and leaves him clouded in confusion. A clenched soul, stuck in the discomforting transition of change, numbed by too much real, feeling like if he surrenders to his feelings, he will be sucked into a vortex.   Lost in his own miserable meanderings, he rarely registers the world around him.  It's like he's formed a bubble of discontent around his body.  Love can't escape.  It can't get in either.   

For some reason this morning, he looks up from his self absorption and sees two men, homeless and huddled under a ratty wool blanket leaning against the corner of the grey brick wall away from the entrance to the park. Their winter wool caps are moth eaten worn. Their faces are haggard from a tangled hard life. He sees one of the men pull a worn lunch bag out of his jacket  pocket and take out a sandwich. 

Without a word spoken, the man carefully unwraps it, and gives half to his friend to share. As these two ragamuffin men sit in a moment of kindred serenity, oblivious to their surroundings, sharing the only food they have, the clenched souled man stops dead on the sidewalk and stares at them.  The scene pierces through his armour, as he realizes he is witnessing the essence of love. Humanity in its ordinary glory. 

 In a rush of awareness, his warm tears trickle down his cheeks.  His shoulders give way to humble gratitude.  His heart softens as his thoughts percolate with a nod towards what matters and a dismissal of all that doesn't.  In one marked moment, he lets go of the myriad of questions as he realizes he simply has to trust in love. 

 

Tired and spent but now wide awake, the bubbled of discontent bursts as he catches the eyes of the two friends sharing lunch.  He smiles at them, then wipes his nose on his coat sleeve, inhales the biggest breath of much needed air and walks on towards the little chapel he passes everyday on his way to work. Though empty and silent, the chapel still beckons.

He pulls open the heavy wooden door to find a stream of sunlight dappling through the stain glass and walks over to the pew bathed in the sun's rays. He sits quietly ..... alone .... silent, and realizes his heart pain of loneliness had lifted, replaced with the comfort that perhaps love gets lost in the jumble of complicated feelings that wax and wane.  

Once found, perhaps love is a direction. The guide.  It is how you choose to see life.  It is where you  choose to place your gaze.  He had allowed his feelings along with his stubborn will to shut himself off from the person who loved him the most.  She had done the same. 

He unclenches his hands, and gently lays his fingers together, his palms touching........and looks up at the ceiling.  Despite the uncertainty of the future, he felt a calmness bathe over him and his determination return.  In silent reverence to his new found direction he turns his face towards the beam of  sunlight and whispers the words, "thank you."  


He found the tonic for his clenched soul...... in the sharing of a sandwich.

Skip

  "Whatever the intellectual quality of the education given our children, it is vital that it include elements of love and compassion, for nothing guarantees that knowledge alone will be truly useful to human beings. Among the major troublemakers society has known, many were well-educated and had great knowledge, but they lacked a moral education in qualities such as compassion, wisdom and clarity of vision."Dalai Lama.

 Besides my parents, there is one person in this whole world who had as much impact on the development of my values and on the choices I made as an adult.  His name is Skip.  Well, his real name is Bruce, but I've never been able to call him that. It would be too uncomfortable!  He's Skip.  Always and forever.  Just like I am Muskie always and forever. 

I'm not alone.  I daresay there are quite a few people out there in "summer camp land" who wouldn't hesitate if they were asked to identify the person who impacted them the most when they were growing up besides family members.  The first name to come to mind for many is Skip. After they declared that, out would tumble a whole canoe full of stories that revolve around a place that remains sacred in our hearts and memories. Alive and well these stories are!  All you have to do is tickle a Kawabi kindred just the chin and BING!  Out shines a story about Skip.  

Some of them would begin by focusing on that sense of childhood fear of this man who generated an untouchable admiration and desire to please in many!  Two thumbs up from Skip and your feet didn't touch the ground.  However, the underbelly of this are the stories of when at age 13 you got caught in the middle of the night performing crazy antics when you were supposed to be sound asleep in your own bunkbed!  I get shivers just remembering how it felt when 12 of us campers who had reunited after a long winter of wishing for camp again, were in the middle of taking photos of all of us on one bed........ with every single flashlight on and a loud cacophony of laughter peeling through the tent walls!  

Through the sound of 12 girls humming like a crowd at a bottom of the ninth world series game 7 with the score tied and the heavy hitter up to bat...... a seriously sharp baritone would cut the air and slice through the loud din! Silence ensued immediately.  For out in the dark on the path you had to take to get back to your own tent was a man who walked those same paths without a flashlight EVER in glow in the dark white tennis shoes.  That's all you could see!  The shoes!  It was probably best not to see the stern brow on his face.  You knew it was there anyways.  

I've never even attempted to write a piece on this blog about Skip because I find it daunting.  Not that I don't want to..... its just that so many conversations, activities, campfires, games, and interactions come to mind all at once.   What underlies all of the stories I share with him are the values he lived and taught daily.  Compassion, love and belonging were expressed through his actions.  Like tasty sweets, they were shared with everyone who had the bloody luck to be under his wing for even one summer.  Me?  I had 12 joyful summers.  

As a camper, I found my sense of belonging and a mentor who cared deeply for every single kid that got off that bus on the first day of camp.  It was his goal always to know the names of every one of us by dinner that first day.  It was his expectation of his whole staff too.  If he was stumped............ he bought you a bag of "tuck."   

Skip led us in song, taught us new games that opened up the whole camp property into a place of adventure.  He handpicked his staff and gave them his blessing and complete trust to lead their little packs of campers through a memorable time learning how to swim, how to sail......... how to canoe....... how to shoot an arrow..... how to sing a round of Fire's burning....... how to make new friends and work as a group. 

On the first night of my second year on staff, Skip wanted to talk to me.  He had brought along the two female senior staff with him, so I knew right away it was serious.  Much to my genuine surprise, he wanted to talk to me about my contribution as an Assistant Counsellor the summer before.  Not that I had screwed up completely........ With an assertiveness but also with compassion, he told me that he was disappointed in me as he had expected more from me.  He saw me as a more proactive leader than what I was showing. 

I was pretty stunned by the whole encounter and couldn't understand why he had to have these two staffers with him.  Until he explained that he wanted them to take me under their wing.  He wanted to make sure I had the best guidance that summer so I would be ready to take on the role of Counsellor the following year.  He wanted me to succeed as the Leader he believed I could be.

Needless to say, I worked my ass off that summer.  If Skip thought I had it in me, and he wanted to see it shine, well dammit I was going to prove to him he was right!  Though my confidence took an initial knocking, by the end of the summer I was 16 years old, I felt an even greater sense of belonging and a good feeling that I too had left an impression on the lives of my "campers."  

One of the most important aspects of that "SKIP TALK" night was how it opened up our relationship to a place where he and I could talk more about so many other topics.  True, there was still a sense of reverence one has for their mentor, but there was also an levelling of our interactions.  Adult to adult.  He put his trust me.  I put my trust in him.  He gave me responsibilities and guidance, and I fulfilled them as I tapped into my gifts.  We learned the human side of one another.  We worked together.  I thrived being on his "team."

A couple of years later, Skip approached me one evening during pre-camp.  He asked me if I would join him in talking to an Assistant Counsellor who needed some guidance.  All of a sudden the big staff girl shoes were on my feet.  It was my turn. I was the one who would follow through with this staff person and help her process the message from Skip, but also be by her side that summer.  It certainly surprised me, but I was honoured to play this role.  Passing on the values.......... passing on the compassion, love and belonging.  Developing trust.  Developing deeper interactions with one another by sharing.  Growing in leaps.  

Along the way, this staffer and I became lifelong friends. :)  Oh, and let me add too that one of the big girl staffers who was with me the night I got my talking to?  She's very much in my life still....... We all may live in different provinces, but we are in touch almost weekly.  Thank you facebook! :)

Years later, after many accumulative moments of shared feelings........ I returned to camp for a 40th anniversary reunion.  It had been 15 years since I had walked up the camp road towards the Lodge.  This time, I was accompanied by my own family.  For the first time, I was introducing them to my home away from home.  A place they had heard so much about had finally become the real thing........ the sweet scent of pine needles scattered on the soft ground in the woods, the tall trees that allowed only slivers of sunlight to pierce through, the sounds of laughter, boat motors, water play........ the cool breezes.... it was all there as we got out of the car and walked up towards the buzzing of the people there for the same purpose as I was.  To relive, reunite, rekindle, relight once again.   

As we ambled up to the top of the small hill on the road, I saw in the distance this man whose blonde hair had a little more grey in it, wearing a golf shirt, shorts and those glow in the dark tennis shoes.  He stood there waiting to greet us and I realized that I hadn't seen him since the night of my wedding reception where we danced together, Muskie and Skip.... mentee and mentor.  It took every single muscle in my body not to go right into a sprint towards him.  It felt like I had just completed the Amazing Race and he was standing by the finish line!  

I held my composure right up until I stood in front of him.  His arms went right around me like a big bear as I proclaimed..... "I'm home!"  

"Good to see you again Muskie..."

Tears? Oh yeah!  Both of us....   Then Skip turned his focus on my daughter whom he had never met in person before.  

"You must be Martha.  Welcome to Camp Kawabi.  I hope you will call it home too just like your Mom does because you belong here too." 

inspirations, gifts and blessings..... 2010

Sunday morning, the phone rang as I was getting ready for church while wondering if my friend Maureen would be at the service.  Of course it was her on the other end of the phone, wondering if I was going and if I could pick her up.  Same wavelength. That's how our friendship has evolved over the past year......... on a synchronistic grace note woven beautifully into good timing.

We've known one another since our eldest children were toddlers.  Our youngest, who are now 13 years old are only a few months apart and have been friends since kindergarten.  But, for circumstances and strange reasons that will remain unknown our friendship never developed beyond acquaintance.  Interestingly, we both instinctively knew we would eventually connect in a meaningful way.  It has always been "meant to be....."

Our conversation along the route to church was a catch up talking stream.  Surprisingly, in the 10 minutes that it took to get from her house to the pew we settled into, we just about covered it.   Why?  Because we were able to agree on the assessment of our personal 2010 journeys.  

Maureen and I  experienced life altering family issues that literally brought us to our knees and through the doors of St. Paul's United Church within a month of one another (which is where we reconnected....) and had summed it up in the same way.   Our lives now are far richer, our learning much broader, our ability to feel much deeper, our wings more unfurled, our faith tested and tasted and acted upon.  In other words, despite the pain and anguish we confronted living our own stories unfolding, we learned more in 2010 than in all the years combined.

The two most inspiring and motivating events of 2010, we shared.   To think that Maureen wasn't even a key person in my life at this time last year seems impossible.  But, that was the case.  I had no idea what she was coping with.  She had no idea what I was living.  By May, we did..... in one deep  diving conversation when we realized just how much we had to offer one another. Our gifts blended well.

By the end of June, the two of us were sitting at the front of St. Paul's United Church delivering the Sunday service together.  By December 8th, we were standing in front of the government legislature surrounded by over 1000 people who heard the call of Maureen's rally cry to support the need for treatment services for youth with complex mental health issues in this province and their families!!!  (I will write about this in another post!)  From the morning  we spent in her home office in mid October plotting and planning out her "AUDACIOUS"  vision of this rally to the BIG DAY,  our lives were intertwined in this project!  

I know I've used this blog mostly to process the deep scar feelings and angry hurts from the end of my marriage.  It has been so therapeutic to write, publish and move on.  But, it has only offered up a predominantly one sided view of how my year unfolded.   I wish I had been able to have written as regularly as I used to, because there have been SO MANY amazing moments, connections, topics, ideas I have not been able to capture here.   Today, I was inspired by my Emerald friend, Pip (a gem like no other!) who posted his 2010 list of favourites.  I thought it would be a good idea to do the same.....

Blessing:  Martha and Max.  When I looked at them on Christmas Day all smiles while opening their Santa stockings, I whispered a big thank you.

Place: My back deck last summer..... On my own or with a an old friend, to share dinner, star gaze, sip wine, listen to music, marvel at the fireflies..... when the sun was shining, or when the early evening summer breezes were cooling down the day, I found solace.  Sunrises, Sunsets..... my Saint John river flowing.  I began to heal.  I grew new roots.  I belonged.

Moment:  Canada Day.  In the woods near Petticodiac, New Brunswick with a friend.  For a few hours I sat peacefully still on a large flat rock situated right in the middle of a glorious waterfalls. Bliss defined.

Learning:  I could fill a book with all the learning I gathered up in my arms!  What guided me along were learning three pieces of wisdom I wrapped my heart in.........

Faith is a verb.

God provides minimum protection but maximum support.

Tears bring strength.

Song:  Michael Franti, Sound of Sunshine.  It pulled me up onto my feet every single time I heard it!!  Have a listen!!!

Album.... Mark Knoffler, Get Lucky.  Dont know when he recorded it.  I discovered it in 2010.  MY GOD, this whole album puts me in a place of comfort. Strikes a soul chord where tears and smiles meet.  I'll always travel in  my mind to a summer's eve sitting quietly and alone on my back deck with this playing in the background.  Here's the title track.

Author ..... John O'Donohue's book of Blessings and book on Beauty.  Neither left my side.  One blessing in particular I read quietly aloud many many mornings as a way to centre myself, as a way to find my strength.  An excerpt:

"I arise today

Blessed by all things,

Wings of breath,

Delight of eyes,

Wonder of whisper,

Intimacy of touch,

Eternity of soul,

Urgency of thought

Miracle of health

Embrace of God."

Book.... Henri Nouwen's workshop book on the Parable of the Prodigal Son.  It literally shifted my perspective and allowed me to see the issues in my life and the role I played from a very different angle.  I learned how resentful I had become and how much anger I had swallowed.  Once I realized I connected most with the Son who stayed behind, and how his resentment killed the joy in his life, I set out to let go of the chains of resentment, and began to seek joy through forgiveness.  I have returned to this book time and again since last winter when I discovered it.  Life changing. 

Hurt.... Going through yet another blip in my job when there was an attempt to clip my wings again and not allow me to be a counsellor.  Long story, but very hurtful and came at a time when I didn't have the energy or focus to fight back.  Things seem to be back on track again.  And I am in a different mindset.  Counselling isn't a vocation.  Its a calling.  It's who I am.  It's like breathing.  No matter how it is defined, I am who I am.

Personal Achievement.  Returning to church after a 30 year hiatus last March with the encouragement and love of my friend Andrea.  She held onto me that first Sunday I went with her.  I was so numb and so heartbroken, but she was there right beside me handing me kleenexes and singing hymns in my ear!  Three months later and lots and lots of love shone on me?  I stood at the front of the congregation and spoke about  "God's Abundance."  I entitled it  "Found Blessings...." a term I had read once in a John O'Donohue book.  Here is the link to the sermon......

Inspiration.... My friend Maureen.  Hands down!

Scar..... on my heart.  It is shaped like the Hope Diamond.

Gift..... Last spring when I was in such emotional pain, my friend Charles (crazy man blogger) gave me a big gold cross.  It was a gift his Priest had given him when he was going through a grieving time.  He gave me the cross to help me when I needed it.  His kindness left me teary and speechless.  That cross travelled with me wherever I went.  I held it in my hands often.  Now?  I gave it back to Charles so he can pass it on to another in need. 

Weekend..... Late October when I took part in a weekend prayer/writing retreat at a place called Tatamagouche.  Led by two beautiful women, I personally experienced two moments of enlightenment which left me changed forever. It was as soul shifting as my experience at Greenbelt in 2009 when I spent time in a place called "Soulspace...."  I need to write more about this experience as well.  I've talked about it and touched on the experience a couple of times in a few blog posts, but haven't managed to find the written words to capture it.

Thing.... My glowing blue ball, a gift from my friend JOY which sat on my back deck until the fall and brought good karma back into the home!!!!  And a few good laughs!!!! I wrote about it here!!

Frustration....... I am no farther along with doing something with my writing as I was this time last year.  I have more ideas, but my procrastination continues to bite me in the arse.  As much as I want to let my writing lead the next part of my life, I can't seem to stop jumping into things that act as diversions. HOWEVER, those diversions have been healing, helpful and have made me WHOLE! 

Bloggers...... My Emerald friend Pip's blog!.  Food for the soul.  Click HERE  

And my beautiful Aussie friend, Selma's blog.  Her prose, written from deep corners of her soul always leaves me smiling and applauding her gifts!  Selma?  You are a gem too!  And one day, we will go on a book tour together eh?  :)   Click  HERE!

Reflection.... Sitting in a Cathedral in Toronto last April, feeling such hurt and pain, I was able to find my stillness through centering prayer. Since then, I have returned to that "place" of comfort when I've needed it. Reflection has been a place i have visited the most this year as I learned the lessons of humility and forgiveness.

Gift 2 ..... All of the beautiful human beings in my life who are really angels in disguise.  You have helped me find my wings, find my voice, find my freedom, broaden my awareness,  through your love, encouragement and listening ears.  You have showered me with compassion and understanding.  I will forever be grateful.

Love .....  My handsome Scottish Frenchman from the Gaspe coast who not only has taught me about 50-licious romance, who has surprised me with glorious bouquets of spring flowers, he turned a potentially miserable day into one complete with champagne memories.  He also orchestrated the best, most hilarious first date ever by bringing journalist Jan Wong along.  (actually, he brought me along!) Merci beaucoup Monsieur McGregor.  Encore!!!

Journey ..... one blessed with an ever growing faith in God, on a path with no borders that continues to amaze me. 

Let me finish this list of Favourites with more of Father O's blessing........

"May I live this day.....

Compassionate of heart,

Clear in word,

Gracious in awareness,

Courageous in thought

Generous in love. "

embers from advent.........

It feels likes it been quite a long time since I purposefully closed the curtains on the outside world and opened the  inside windows to have a look. Ahhhhhhhh!  It seems like the only time I manage to do so is when I'm spent.... saturated with stories, pressures, overwired with connections.  

I yearn for it.  

I think about it. 

Even try to plan for it, 

but my own life churning keeps it at bay....... keeps the curtains open. 

Intentionally I avoid it until I'm at the emotional razor's edge when the sense of claustrophic lack of oxygen hovers.  

Fear.  Fear of the unknown.

Fear of it being too emotionally naked.

Vulnerable.

I know better.   I need it more often.  Yes, this morbidly open mouthed extrovert needs more quiet time than ever before.  Not just when I'm stretched out relaxing in the bathtub.  I've learned the medicinal elixirs stirring in silent mediation. It lessens the weight. It opens the pores to light.  Beautiful light.

Tonight, as I sit cuddled up in a chair which is pulled up to the fireplace,

clusters of candlelight flicker dance 

above and below,

sending blended scents of ordinary aromas.....

lingering memories I breathe in with no effort.

vanilla, lemongrass, 

clementine blossoms, iced pine,

crisp linen, seashore heather,

cranberry sweetness.

I watch the fire flicker into embers.

Draw nearer

Draw nearer

In the glowing.

Sweet whistles of captured summer rains

sizzle like birdsong

Flames waffle with the sound reminiscent of flapping sheets on the clothesline

air fillap

air fillap

air fillap

spark crackle embers tango with maple yule

send searing heat rays

kissing my barefeet cold from winter floorboards.

compressing my cheeks like the warmth from my grandmothers hands.

I close my eyes......

music filters all around me

choirs of soprano faith hit high echo notes

gently bouncing off cupolas of old cathedrals

voice instruments that soothe ancient shadows

madrigal hymns that massage tired souls

encircling my space like angel goodness

to help persuade dark thoughts to take flight.

for sorrow to latch onto white waves

capping constant rolling currents that flow past.....

thoughts float in through the open windows

and settle into my awareness

gaps, once clogged in chatter welcome the thoughts

old questions, retooled doubts,

mysteries laden with burdensome timber

accompany the thoughts, transforming them into feelings.

harsh feelings of hurt and broken promises.

I ask why.

I ask why..... again......

Why?

My stomach begins to churn again.

Restless phantoms threaten to dissolve stillness into sorrow.

I breathe in scented reassurance.... 

I breathe out relief 

I breathe in sensory enhancing trembles.

I breathe out relief mixed with grins.

Grief work

Letting realities settle.

Choirsong gently softens the edges 

turning sorrows and hurt into ashes and embers

that fall below the flames 

Sounds like flapping sheets in the wind

sweet whistles of captured summer rain

I realize stillness can only visit if one welcomes sorrow beforehand.

gloria..........

gloria.........

draw nearer

draw nearer

hallelujah

in the glowing.....

layers of forgiveness feed the fire

hallelujah

let it go

let it go

soprano faith spills into my sanctuary

bouncing off cupolas of ancient cathedrals

echoing assurance that in life we are never alone.

'tis the season when change is the most trying

when naughty newness is frowned upon

when miracles are dismissed as lies

when judgement wags the know it all finger

when transitions leave stretch marks on swollen bellies 

ready to burst under the discomfort....

Embers slowly accumulate under the dying fire

by the melted candlewax......... 

A star begins to shine brightly on forgiveness

on peace, love, acceptance and hope

Joyful hope

as we prepare for receiving the gift of birth. 

Comfort and Joy.

Comfort and Joy.....

while the choir of ancient angels harmonize hearts and souls........

Christmas is nearly here.....

 _________________________

Dear God,

Thank you for helping me open my heart to the spirit of the season.

By........

Letting me breathe in the stark realities without falling apart

Showing  me how to breathe out empathy, peacefulness and forgiveness

Please keep reminding me that the least deserving, the ones who have cause pain, who have shown no remorse in their selfish actions are the ones in my life who need to be loved the most.

Thank you God for this season of Advent and for helping me to embrace its meaning 

so as to let go of what may never have meaning.

As the embers cool from close-up fires, I am learning to let go.

I am learning.......

beach glass

So, here I am, sitting at my dining room table in front of my computer.  I have a group of candles burning beside me as the only source of light.  Flickering light. Flickering thoughts as I reflect on blogging. I can't believe I have been writing here in my own little corner of the blog world for 5 whole years.  Who knew I was so yappy? 60 months, 1825 days, and 1458 posts!

5 years later?  Older. Wiser? hmmmm.......... That's debatable.  Have I learned anything? Yes.  Have I changed?  Oh yes, big shifts.  Have I matured?  No.  Have I acquired a few more pock marks, bruises and beauty marks?  Oh my God have I!  Do I still see the world through the lens of the absurd?  You bet.  Has my world expanded?  To infinity and beyond....... collecting blessings and life long friendships as I have ventured. Beautiful blessings that reach out to all corners of this global village we live, work and play in. 

Awareness.  It's a far reaching theme umbrella to write under.  It suits me perfectly because it has allowed me to practise my writing, to experiment with wordplay, to reflect on new learning, obervations, to share stories, to make up rhymes, to broaden and to dissect. Most importantly, it has provided me a forum for personal growth, spiritually, emotionally, cognitively while hopefully offering up my own learning to add to your own learning through stories, poetry, opinion, essays, photography.

I'm struck with the range of topics I've attempted to tackle.  To me, each post seems like a piece of beach glass that I either stumbled upon, or had carefully chosen to display.  Some have been rounded and softened by the rolling waves, some still have pointy angles to them.  Those ones hurt a bit when you close your hand around them.  Shards of glass, all uniquely shaped.  Some clear like the sheets of a window, while others opague with a layer of white chalk on them.  The ones which are the most pleasing to my eye come in light catching greens and rare cobalt blue or porcelain white.

Beach glass doesn't come from nowhere..... they all have an unknown history much larger and grander than the remnant left on the shoreline.  What you see when you pick it up to explore its texture, shape and colour is merely the tip of its story.  Just like the writing I do on this blog.  So much of  what I write is the mere tip of my life's observations.  But just like the beach glass, it is what ends up on the shore of my thinking.......it's what gleams in my thoughts that I end up capturing.   

I look at what I've written and see it as individual pieces.  Then, I stand back to look at the body of work as a whole and I see the mosaic patchwork created.  Under the theme of Awareness, this elemental montage forms a rough worn window on my soul.  If my soul is a cabin in the woods down by the water, this is one of the windows where the light gets in.  Peak through the collage of beach glass and you will see a part of who I am. Not all of me.  

This blog is a slice of my story.  It captures reflected observations, feelings and opinions.  There is so much more I either choose not to share, havent discovered or written about yet.  That's the thing about awareness.  Not only is is a broad theme..... it is an infinite one as vast as the oceans where beach glass is tumbled and molded. 

Miles to go before I sleep.

My blog is a work in progress.  My mosaic window is incomplete.  Just like me............ there is more to learn.  There is more to explore.  There is more to reflect upon.  I am a work in progress.  Just like you!  A human becoming.....

5 years and counting........... I love this place and it warms me right down to my painted toenails that you seem to enjoy it too.  :)

 

painting by Valerie Leri

life's reality

Pour yourself a glass of complications, 

life never comes with ease.  

As much as we strive for simplicity, 

it just ain't in our genes.  

You could say you want only simple things, 

I can say I want the same, 

but when it comes to human interaction, 

it never works out that way. 

Let me be touched by the simple gifts,

do not mire me in doubt.  

Don't let strings snag my spirit

when I am trying to live without. 

Crumple up your demanding neediness, 

I have no time for that. 

Then again, what's life without complications?

Its how we interact. 

Its how we interact.

It's how we interact.

Complications add the spice in life.

Its the elixir in a drink.

Its what heighens our awareness

It's what forces us to think.

Without seeming mass confusion, 

there be no need for clarity.

Pour yourself a glass of complications

Sip on life's reality. 

time under the bridge....

I gave away a lot of time

Productive time

Destructive time

wasted away time

never to be on time.

water under the bridge time

I gave it away.

Gone....

waiting and waiting....oh, how often I did this....

filling gaps between here and there

with 

urgent energy

anxious persperation 

desperate pleads

hot anger fueling loose lips

breathing deeply......letting go.........

stalled, stood up, stupified, steaming....breathless

trapped by the thief of my time....

please, please....... we're going to be late, I'd say

PLEASE, PLEASE!!!  WHY CAN'T YOU BE CONSIDERATE OF MY NEEDS? 

I bellowed alot .... 

became a banshee.... 

I hated the sound of my voice.

I hated who I had allowed myself to become.  

I'd say.... 

Why couldn't you..........

pick me up when you said you were going to

meet me at the agreed upon time

phone me if you were running late

put me first and not the person who "held" you up once again

be ready..........??

Where was the respect?
I became a temper tantrum ready at my calling...

Today I sat in a reception area waiting......... familiar story.  The "lady in waiting..." I know it off by heart.  It had only been an hour since we had agreed upon a time to meet!!  15 minutes went by, and my mind wandered..... alarmed with worry, wondering if something serious happened and triggered once again by the dance we allowed to continue....me being the worrier of doom and gloom, he being the controller of those precious moments that make up a life.  Mine.   While I was feeling my stomach begin to churn, and the sweat begin to seep out of my angered pores, I realized something.....

I own it.  I gave  my heart  and soul time and it was just stomped on without a spit of gratitude. So now?  It's not up for grabs.  My time is my own.  I am free to use it, share it, apply it, give it with love to someone who will respect it.  I let go of those chains that I allowed to burden me for a long time....... chains of time..... sliding off me.......

Let the clock tick on from here, chiming freedom.  I am learning.  I am no longer the "lady in waiting...." that role has been passed on.

the breath of shadows

The old country church was unlocked for us by the beautiful woman who has held the key for many years.  All we had to do was ask, and she wholeheartedly obliged knowing how important it was for us to touch base.  Then, my son and I were left to ourselves to take in the ambient memories, a few of which are our own.  Most are accumulatively shared with generations of ancestors who have attended services, held the hymn books, prayed together, listened to scripture. 

Generations all tied to my son were baptized, confirmed, married, eulogized within these walls. His paternal family has sat in these pews,  have sung in these choirs.  His ancestors helped build this little holy place.  He knows this inherently.  He's aware of this through the stories we have passed onto him.  The gift he feels is a sense of belonging that stretches from the present back into the breath of shadows.  The stories echo home. 

It was my son's idea to spend time in the little church during our first visit back to a place this family of mine holds close to our hearts.  Initially, his request surprised me.  I knew he wanted to walk the circle of the village road to say hello to the people in our lives whom we hadn't seen since last summer.  Though I knew it would be an emotionally charged pursuit, I wanted to as well.  

Going inside the church wasn't something I expected my son to want to do. When I thought about it, his desire made sense.  I guess I just didn't realize how much that place already held the stories for him.  As they do for his Dad.  As they do for his Aunt and Uncle.  As they do for his Cousins.  As they do for his Sister and Me.  Stories linger in the breath of the shadows.

Like everyone, however, who is attached to this village, the Spencer's Island church cradled those important ties that bind in the breath and shadows of people who tangibly represent the eternal. My son had only ever attended a few services there, the last two being a memorial service for his grandparents and a rededication of the church which included remembrance of two elders who had passed on in recent years.  The names Spicer  Currie and Gamblin touch chords in us.  Deeply meaningful, ancestral names.  At those services, he sat in a pew surrounded by an extended family  many of whom he didn't know personally but who knew him.  He is the namesake of his Great Uncle Max. This is  how he is "known."  Uncle Max was an elder and a lifelong active resident of this community.  More intimately, he was our constant anytime we visited and he continues to cast a big presence in our lives.  God, I miss him.

As I took photos from the balcony, it was Uncle Max's voice I could hear the most pronouced...........singing in the choir, telling us stories, welcoming us with a huge smile and a big bear hug when we arrived to the big old house he had grown up in, which had been left in the Will to his sister, my Mother in Law..... my son's GrandMim.  The old house is now out of our reach.  We don't have access to it anymore.  But, the visit to the church reminded us both that its not what matters.  What matters is feeling the spirits of past and present which emanate throughout the village, especially in the pews of this little church. 

While my son looked around at the dedication plaques and recognized the names of relatives, he asked many questions.... good sense of belonging questions.   I could see in him how much it meant to feel this grounding...... this sense of place and person and hoped it helped him find a settling in the turmoil we have been experiencing.  His spirits were bouyant, uplifted........ which in turn lifted mine.

I continued to look around through the lens of my camera to catch the shadows of mid morning.  It was then that I remembered something about shadows ........... one can hear the sounds, the voices, the hymns caught in their breath when there's light shining above.  For it is light which allows the shadows to form...... Light provides the breath..........the spirit.  No light.  No shadows.  No breath from the past......

As we left........... my son asked me to remind him of his first trip to Spencer's Island.......... It was November, 12 and a half years ago.  He was 6 weeks old, and slept through the night for the first time in his wee life, cozied up in a basket bassinet right beside me........ The next day, we all went for a walk into Uncle Max's woods on a beautiful crisp sunny day.......... he in a snuggly wrapped around his Dad's chest ..... content as can be ..... and when he was hungry, I sat comfortably on a log in the middle of the woods and nursed my boy.  He loves that story.  So do I.  

More to come........................

a ghost just needs a home.....

 

Ana sat crumpled at the foot of the hill, a royal blue stone cupped in her hand. Exhausted in mind and body, she couldn't find the energy to walk up the path as she did everyday. She had lost the impetus to continue. She had lost her way. It simply felt too difficult to carry on with her mission. The meaning of it had slipped out of her grasp.

No matter what the weather, Ana had treked up to the top of the hill to place a stone she had carefully chosen and carried onto the pile which had accumulated over time. This was her lifework. She loved her stones and usually took pleasure in choosing the ones who spoke to her. Over the years, she came to believe stones were a home for spirits. They individually held ancestral stories. They were our collective legend. 

Her best days were when Ana discovered a diamond in the rough......a stone which resonated heat from its core when she cupped it in the palm of her hand. She called those ones "touchstones" because they seemed to carry lovewisdom in them, derived from living in the heart of eternity. Touchstones, she believed held the stories from the past......full of ancestral feelings. Through her eyes, the collection she had accumulated was a living piece of art....a choir. Recently, the stones had become silent. Her mission, she questioned.

There were days when she would fill a whole basket full of stones and carry them up the hill. Most days, however, she journeyed with a single solitary one, like the blue gem she was holding onto. All of them were uniquely imperfect and multi-coloured.....some with pink coral bits of quartz that sparkled in the sunshine, some more muted in a rich brown like the cliffs that framed the river below. One at a time, she would place them onto the evergrowing, everchanging pile, and step back to see how her work had shaped a difference. The hill was indeed growing, as was the sculpture of stone spirits. It had felt right. Her sense of purpose filled her with a productive connection to the rest of the world, that this is what she was put on this planet to do.

Today, she had lost her footing. Her shoes were worn, full of sole stabbing pebbles. Sadly, it also seemed silly all of a sudden, and this awareness tripped her own spirit with used up air. So many people had questioned her lifework over the years, had put up boulders along her path but she was always able to overcome whatever the obstacle. Her optimism and focus usually slayed the negativity and doubt. "A ghost just needs a home....." was her reply.

For some reason though, the opponent's words now haunted her thoughts and the more she listened to them replay in her head, the more she felt rejected. She looked at her worn scarred hands dried and cracked from the salty grit, remnants of her labours, her nails chipped and ugly and was overwhelmed by a sense of futility. Misunderstood and unloved, that's how she felt. Her mission rejected. Her person rejected. When did her own self entwine with her mission? When did they become one in the same? She didn't have the answer.

As she sat in a heap afternoon, Ana looked at the last touchstone she had discovered. It was a smooth blue stone with white cracks etched on its surface. Its size fit perfectly in her palm, but it was far from perfect. In fact, it held character.......with chipped edges softened by the tides. This one  she had carried with her for a long time.  For some reason, she couldn't part with it.  Instead, she had kept it tucked in her pocket for company. 

So, as she sat questioning whether or not this truly was her legend or whether it was about to change, she found herself clutching onto the blue stone rubbing it's softness., hoping the spirit it held would speak reassurances.  She ran her fingers unconciously over its fissures feeling the warmth generated from her touch. It helped her surrender her worries to the air around her. The more she repeated the movement, the more she could feel her muscles relax and her mind clear.

Time stretched on unnoticed as Ana found comfort in her meditation.....so much so that she was startled completely when she looked up and saw a man hiking down the hill close to the path she used everyday. In all of her days working on her mission, she had never seen anyone else on her hill. But, there he was. His steps seemed light and energetic, his arms swinging in purposeful motion. Continuing to stare at him like he was an apparition, Ana stood up to greet him as he reached the bottom of the hill.

"Have you been to the top of the hill?" he asked smiling.

"Oh, yes," Ana replied, "I walk up every morning," her reason kept silently in her pocket cupped in her hand. "And you? Is this your first time hiking in this area? I'm surprised I have never seen you before."

"You've seen the altar then?" he asked boldly. 

Before she could overcome her confusion and gather her thoughts he continued...."Our paths probably havent crossed because I always take my walk at this time of day after I've finished my work. I find this is when the angle of the afternoon sun gives the altar a warm welcoming glow. Somehow, the stones someone has placed together comes alive and sings to me...." The look on Ana's face must've made the man realize she didn't know what he was referring to. He continued..."you have seen the altar, right?"

"No, well yes I have," blurted Ana, "it's just that I see it as a piece of artwork and nothing more."

"Oh, it's much more than that. Maybe you've never experienced the feeling because you're usually here in the morning" he reassured her. "Someone has worked very hard to build a beautiful chantry and at this time of day, when the sun warms and reflects its light off the golden touchstones the spirits share their wisdom with me. I hope you don't think I'm crazy, but I have found a place where I can lay my worries, where I can relax. It is where I come to pray everyday. It's where I give thanks."

"The stones speak to you? You pray there and give thanks?" Ana asked a bit dumbfounded. He tentatively nodded, unsure as to how this woman was receiving the informaton he shared with her.

"They speak to me too," she admitted...." which is why I have walked up this hill everyday with a new stone in my pocket to add to my art. I wanted to give the ancestral stories they hold a home."

"You built the altar?"

Ana nodded tentatively. "I never saw it as an altar. I saw it as spirit sculpture."

"Your piece of art is a place of worship. It is beautiful! Oh! I want you to see it with new eyes and in a new light....come with me," he said with the excitement of a young boy who has just discovered an abandoned treefort.

As they walked up the hill, the sun warming their backs, Ana explained why she was there at a different time of day. She also shared with the man how lost she had felt because her sense of purpose seemed futile to her now. She told him she was going to give up on her mission....and was so worried about what she would do next. He listened without judgement and only asked a few questions as a way to help her find her words.

It was a different path than Ana had travelled on every single day so when they reached the summit, she was approaching it from a new angle. So, as soon as the stones came into her sight, Ana stopped abruptly and looked directly at the pile of stones which suddenly had transformed from an abstract piece of art to what the man had described. She saw the altar. Not only that, she heard the choir of spirits reflected from the afternoon sun.

Smiling, she approached her loving stones....the ones she had given a home to....and knelt down in front of them. The man knelt down beside her and quietly whispered...."You may have started your lifework by providing a place where the stories could find a home, but somewhere along the line, your mission changed.....you have built yourself one."

"I see that now......I see that now...."

Ana bowed her head that day and prayed the only two words needed in prayer.

"thank you."

______________

postscript........  

I wrote this piece over a year and a half ago.  I was in a very different place and it entailed sitting at the bottom of a hill wondering what the purpose was of my writing and the obsession with it. 

We begin projects (ie blogging) with clarity of purpose and so often we lose the thread which ties us to the original reason. Or perhaps the reason for the journey begins to take on a different meaning. For so long, I saw myself as a "collector of stories." The stories others shared had a home within me. They had a voice too when I became a storyteller.  I am a counsellor and a writer.  My blog is the temporary home I chose to collect my "touchstones..."  I set out to create a piece of art through my writing.  I now see that I have been building an altar.  Today for the first time, I see this.  

Amazing grace. How sweet the sound.

Somewhere along the line, as I collected and shared.....the meaning of my work, the direction of my journey began to take on a new shape as I realized the touchstones in my life have been providing me with lessons and have pointed out the direction of a new path. Though it is still a bit blurry.....my vision needs some adjusting, I am finally seeing that perhaps I need to personally find an altar I can call home. 

It wont be a traditional one.  I ain't a traditional kind of gal.  I clearly don't see myself studying to become a Minister working within the walls of a church.  I'd rather be out in the forests looking for waterfalls and talking to lost waifs.  I see myself facilitating...... up in front of others.  My vision however, always  begins at the source of my writing.  This is what will lead me.  This  blog is  where I found my voice.

I have a long way to go.....and I don't know the way or even how to go about it. But I do see it and my God, I'm blessed with the guidance of many to help me along the way. It is what I want. The spirit in me  just needs a home.  The foundation is set.  I am unstuck walking up that hill, a blue touchstone in my hand.  Let the choir sing.