Let the universe look after me please......

Walk away for too long in a non-aligned fashion and sometimes its darn difficult to retrace those memorable meanderings..... can you ever really backtrack? 

Walk on.  Walk on.

Stories....oh, the stories and experiences that have filtered and been felt by this crazy river girl! Accumulated touchstone people stories tucked together, colourful reckonings,  tender truths,  textured weavings of startle-charged news all stored inside me.  I havent spilled them on paper, or sketched them out.  It seems as though I've needed to remain aloof to my little blog........ I've needed to ramble in this noisy life...... you know those outside noises that demand attention?

Until I began to hear the inner growl.  The one that niggles and wiggles and pokes you inside the ribs?  The noises that push you off your presumed path into landscapes that draw your attention away from what you THINK matters.  You know, those noises you can't muffle, stifle or control because they are so big and boisterous you HAVE to listen.

Noises on the outside.......  Noises on the inside......

The walk becomes a jog, becomes a run. You can never really run away from the noises on the inside.

And then..... and then......."STOP!  LISTEN!"  says something deep inside your soul. Life trips you up into a tanglement of confusion.   It's then you come face to face with what matters.  This time, the face I was looking at when all things stopped?  My caring intuitive Doctor. 

Though a tunnel, I heard........ "it came back positive...."

WHAT? There were no lumps.  No bumps.  No sore spots.  Nothing.  WHAT?

Is it crazy to admit that I was not surprised?  My doctor is intuitive.  I am intuitive.  I knew I was going to hear her say those words.  I knew it.  Through a tunnel........ Oh my God. I knew.  Yet, there was no indication whatsoever.

As I looked into her big brown eyes, the same ones that I have looked into after I gave birth to my babies and she came into the hospital room broadly smiling to see them all wrapped in flannel nestled in my arms, when my son had croup, when my infant daughter had pneumonia ....... when I spilled my anxieties and stress over carrying too much of a load at home and work and needed time off, when my then husband had just been told he had suffered a stroke and she forcefully told us it was going to be alright, that he was going to recover fully (which he did), when I shuddered and stammered out the news of a marriage break up and asked her to take away that wretched sense of feeling discarded like a candy bar wrapper....... AS I looked into her trusting brown eyes, I heard the news.   The biopsy was positive.  I have breast cancer.

The noises stopped.  My voice became small.  I felt small.  Startled.  Alone. SO Alone.  The only thing I could do was will myself to stay in that tunnel with her.... to absorb the hopeful side of the news .... tiny .... non-invasive ..... not a death sentence..... going to be fine.... fine..... FINE ...... strong woman ..... early detection ..... caught very early  ......  to hear that she was going to be there with me for this part of my life's ride!  

"I will be there for you all the way!"  

In a matter of seconds, I jumped up from the chair in her office, whipped off my dress, unclipped my bra and demanded she do a double check exam.  No bumps..... no hurts.  Nothing.  I hear myself babbling like a fool.  "If its so tiny," I say, "can they just suck it out with a straw or something like you would venom???"  "Jesus,"  I hear myself say, "I've just come around to liking these droopy breasts of mine!!! I've always thought they were just a pain in the ass until I started dating again."  

She laughed.  I laughed.  But, I was telling the truth.  For the first time in my life, I was beginning to believe my breasts were beautiful.  An asset.  

 

"Why?" I ask, "Why did you send me in the first place?"

"I have no idea." She replies. "It was a gut feeling....."

"I had the same gut feeling."

We stand there stunned and a bit creeped out by the serendipity of the news.

I have always believed her.  She has always taken the right steps for me and my family.  It was intuition that she sent me for a diagnostic mammogram in the first place.  No other reason.  She just did it.   Thank God. She hugged me like an old friend.  We are.  Thank God she is in my life. 

_________________

STOP.  LISTEN.  Look around you.   When was the last time you reflected on your assumptions?? Those noisy mid-life assumptions?  They have been slamming me in the face, in the gut, and straight into my soul-full awareness regularly since I heard the news.  Meaningless assumptions.  They have no power now. 

 Amazing how quickly you realize that all the stuff you've been hoarding ...... everything from the grudges to the resentments, to the daily irritations slide away into an abyss called "it doesn't matter at all.........."   In a short time, which actually felt like eternity as I went through the process of "finding out...."  I've come to realize that all that burdensome shit I carry in an over-the-shoulder-satchels are heavy hitter diversions.  

Like everyone, I  use those smudgy grudges, those bitter tasting resentments and those victim inducing irritations as armour.   Protection from feeling vulnerable.  Mufflers from those tender truths that leave gouges on our hard held innocence.  

Wow.  Vulnerability never felt so raw. It arrived in a rush of prickling heat, jumbled thoughts.  Initially, the diagnosis left me ripped in two.  Disassociated.  Too numb to drive.  Sobbing until I thought I would throw up.  Then, I would remember what my doctor told me.  It was EARLY.  Non-invasive.  Treatable.   From there, those drizzled tears were tucked away.  

Responsibilities took precedence. I still had to do my job as a counsellor.  Being a Mom took top priority.  I am their lifeline.  Their leader.  Their rock solid Momma.  Always.   Other life events were happening...... celebratory ones that were more meaningful.  I was in a place of suspension going through the motions, but rarely breaking down. However, the week between hearing the original news to meeting with my surgeon was a see-saw blur of holding it together and crumpling in a heap.   

I didn't want to tell many people until I had more news....... more information.  But, the people I did share it with were so lovingly supportive.  They still are.  Now, even more.  Offering to come stay at the house, to look after us, to drive me to treatments, to help winterize the house, to make bread, scrub floors, drive kids, sit with me...... anything!  just ask, they have ALL stated.  Community of friends and family.  WOW.  

Blessings and offerings.......

Life altering lessons in a place of discomfort.  

Love, compassion, empathy, action!  This is what matters......

Joy and woe are woven fine...... hope lifts up from the dredges of woe.  Not from joy.  Woe is where hope is conceived.   

Human touch, shared tears, held and rocked....... encouragement and reminders.....

Heart to heart conversations revealed themselves in such a timely manner that it couldn't have been anything but the Grace of God. 

Mysterious ways, God reveals Grace.  Someone should talk to Him about his humour.  I mean REALLY! 

_________________

I had a dream the morning I met with the Surgeon that miraculously transformed the panic that was devouring me into lightness.  Calm, clear headed uplifting lightness.  I still quite believe it. I dreamt of a gathering.  I dreamt of a surprise encounter.  I dreamt about deep conversations with people I seemed to know well.  As I awoke from this dream,  I heard the "ME" in the dream say......... "We have no control of some things in our lives.  We have to let the universe look after us....."   

Hope had gestated.  Hope was growing like a gorgeous weed inside me, nourished by early morning light.  I felt a calm I hadn't experienced in months, much less the previous month of mammograms and a biopsy.  Solid.  Strong.  Focused.  Reconciled.  My dream left me in a place of personal reconciliation.  I was dumbfounded by the change in how I was looking at this mid-life event.  But I went with the feeling.  I let the calm feeling soothe me like a balm.  I lte it lead me.  From that moment on.  It was in that frame of mind I met with the Surgeon.  

Can you know right away that you're able to surrender your trust completely to someone you've just met?  Yes.  It happened as soon as this dynamic woman with energy and intelligence galore came bounding into the room and announced "You're the reason why we want every woman to have a diagnostic mammogram!  You're the poster girl!  Your breast cancer?  It's stage 0!  Its so tiny........... let me show you a diagram."  

 From there, the conversation went into detail.  She described the gameplan.  She told me that scar may not be pretty, but who cares, she says.  Yeah, who cares?   She told me I would need radiation.  That's the routine.  No matter how small the cancer area is.  I'm alright with that.  

It will be difficult and I have to travel to another city every day for four weeks right through the Christmas season, but my friends and family will escort me there and back.  We will sing Caroles.  We will share secrets.  We will listen to good music and sip hot tea.  We will drive through snow and maybe even stay in Saint John some nights and talk late into the night.  About stuff that matters.  We will let go of our assumptions.  Together.  On these drives.  AND we will laugh at the absurdities, and the stories we share.

_______________________________

Blessings and offerings........... my little universe is truly looking after me.  I am surrounded by love, near and far.  LOVE! 

Stage 0!  Who the hell has ever heard of that?  Is this a gift in disguise?  yes. 

Originally, I was sent for a diagnostic mammogram for no apparent reason?  Based on my Doctor's intuition?  The cancer would not have been detected until it had grown way beyond its minute boundaries if it hadn't been for me continually meeting with my Doctor while I was at the worst of my marriage grief.   

Stage 0 is where I'm at.  I'm the poster girl for getting the old floppy boobies squished in those damn picture machines.  I wonder if I can put that on my resume? 

My surgery is on Wednesday October 26th at 10 am AST.  9:00 am EST.  From there, I heal.  From there, the universe will be all around me......... as will caring people, spirit companions until the treatment and intervention is complete.  

Can I leave you dear bloggie reader and friend with one request?  Will you share a little of your light on me Wednesday morning? I'd really like to feel all that warmth.  No worries.  No negative thoughts.  No talk of survivor.  I'm NOT looking at this as a combat battle in the trenches.  I'm looking at it as a LOVE bombardment, and I need your help sending out that energy!  Because when it comes right down to it, nothing soothes any beast better than open hearted LOVE.  THAT's what matters.

Time for bed.............. dreams matter too.

pressed flowers and other revealing things

 These ones stayed..............

I lost count on the number of boxes I filled with books during one of the most humid nights of this summer.   There were times when I hesitated.... caught by a memory of when one of them had been added to the shelves.  A Christmas present...anniversary.....birthday gifts.  The much coveted novel, enjoyed immensely.  For the most part however, I was on a roll.  With a glass of wine on hand, and my musical preferences to keep me company, I spent hours decluttering, cleaning and stacking the boxes for future retrieve.  

My focus tumbled around 2:45 am.  Not quite the witching hour.  Almost. 

I came face to face with a  large reference tomb of a book . My resolve melted momentarily.  It had nothing to do with the book itself.  Rather, it was the pieces of paper towels sticking out of through the pages that caught my eye.  Caught breath.  Wavering balance.  My initial reaction was to recoil like I had seen a water moccasin curled up on the bottom shelf hissing at me!  It was just a book for goodness sake.  How in the world can something so inanimate create such a visceral reaction?  Well, try living in a house whose familial foundation was startled by thundering betrayal.  There are little emotionally ticking trinkets mocking you for months afterwards.  Bloody loud they can be! 

As soon as I saw them, a realization hit me in the gut.  Inside the creases of the paper towels were beautifully pressed flowers.  Pansies, daisies, forget me knots I had picked from our first house and placed in the book many years ago to dry.  My intentions back then were to use them to decorate candles or note paper. 

But, then I got busy.  The craft project was forgotten. The flowers were abandoned.

Two children to raise.

A career that kept me busy.

A home to run. 

A marriage to....................?

I took a bit of time to look at the flowers laying open on paper. My hands open to hold them.   I took in their delicate beauty.  I remembered where I had picked them...out of the garden of our first house.   I cried a little.  Not enough moisture to bring them back to life.....just enough to moisten my cheeks.  Then, I tossed them into the trash. 

I've tossed a lot of stuff along with rearranging pictures and painting walls.  Enlightening....... and lightening. Everytime I've reached that place when I could let go of "the stuff"  my whole body feels like it is somehow defying gravity for a thin air second. 

To get to this head space, I have worked hard taking one step at a time.  There are some who feel that I should be farther along the path. How do I know this?  I hear it.  Then, there are some who comment on how well I'm doing.  I hear this too.  Who the hell knows..... except me.  I am where I am.......   More importantly, I am fine with where I am.  Right here.  Living.  Moving forward at my own pace.  If there is anything I can control, its my own pace and my own readiness to tackle yet another piece of the "letting go" puzzle.  Those overcrowding yakety yak books were my chosen target the other night. When the urge hits, you've got to move into that headspace and go to it even if it takes all night long..... which it did. 

I put the kettle on as the sun raised it's orange eyebrow over the river horizon.  The boxes of dusty books were stacked high in my kitchen along with a few holding memories of past gift giving days.  My shelves had been scrubbed down with lemon scented cleaner.  More minimalist, they were reborn with the novels and reference books that were mine and the kids as well as a few bright coloured clay vases, a couple of woven baskets, a few framed photos....  I swear I heard the white painted wood heave a sigh of relief as I stretched out my own muscles while realizing for the first time how tired I was.  

Content too. I hadn't felt that broad contentment in a long time......

The sun rose into the peace of a hazy summer morning, accompanied by the choir of birdsong that always makes me feel happily connected with the ground my barefeet touch.  At that moment, I felt alone, but not lonely.  All of those sense of accomplishment emotions were lightly stirring the remnants of my energy.  Gladness. Wing fluttering gladness kissed by the sweetness of honey nectar.   It was a moment this summer that I will never forget because even though it seems like just another chore found on a "to do" list, it was so much more than that.  

A few of the people in my life who have walked with me knew what I had been up to that night.  I can honestly say that their spirit tapped me from time to time and kept me moving forward. I was always in good hands. When it was late enough in the morning, I phoned one of them........ in  a tired but satisfied voice, I announced that my latest decluttering mission was accomplished.  

Full of encouragement that only comes with understanding he invited me over to his place where there was a cool bed in an air conditioned room......... away from the rest of the familiar world.  I took him up on his offer, and as he went about his own chores, tackling his to do list, I slept more soundly than I had in months, lullabied by the constant whir of cool cool air, while being checked on from time to time by the caring eyes of a dear friend. His kindness I will always hold onto.

A month later, when I walk into my living room (which will in itself be transformed very soon) I can feel the refreshened difference.  This particular weight is gone.  All it took was to reveal the flowers caught in the spine of a book to let go of years of dusty words.  When the time was right.  It is that simple.  You just gotta be ready on your own terms.....

ps.  You know, the last time I had pulled an all-nighter before this task filled adventure sure had a different reason for it!  And it had nothing to do with chores!!!!  hahaha!  gotta have another one of those types soon too!  :)

you win some....

 a cross of limbs

But you might get lucky now and then

You win some, you might get lucky now and then

You win some

 Mark Knopfler, Get Lucky

I have learned to find stillness inside my core.  Not all the time.  When I need to seek it. Music guides me there. With its soothing melodic sound, I allow it to surround me like a warm comforting shawl wrapped around my whole body. Soft earthy colours that gently touches my senses but doesn't impede my freedom to allow life's hymns to penetrate my flesh. In fact, it seems to do the opposite.  It opens me up to receiving the flow of thought and feeling as I breathe.  Accompanied by candlelight clarity and ancient hymns, I have learned to seek out a relaxed sanctuary where I can embrace vulnerability with a sense of soul safety.  

Sometimes, I don't have to set up my own little chapel of stillness.  Sometimes, it finds me when I'm least expecting it or when I need it the most..... when the sounds of my world resemble clashing cymbals, offbeat noise generated by loud obnoxious fumes generated from life out of hand.  Ringing in my ears.  Ringing in my soul.  I've learned to recognize those off kilter moments, especially if I am physically and/or emotionally spent, and do something about it.  Then, I gather my outgoing energy and turn it inwards.  Just for a brief respite until I can reach the end of a stressful, busy, loud noisy day when I can snuggle into the comfort of the shawl for a longer period of time.  It makes me smile as I write this. Regeneration. 

Paradoxically, it's a process of regaining some control of what is allowed to penetrate me and what I long to release by letting go of the controls.  Recently, I learned itt's a form of centring.  Integrating head and heart with something far deeper and mysterious in the core of my soul.  That is where the guiding light is.  Down this dark shadowy tunnel, a guiding light awaits.  Its glow awakens calm, courage, clarity.  Its glow invites resolution by letting you safely look deeply into the place where tears are made.  Not the ones that flow down cheeks. These soultears are the ones that weep into muscles and bones.  They touch upon the tension and untie the bruising knots that stiffen the body and mind.  Just by breathing.  Alone.  In candlelight clarity.  Inside ancient hymns.  Healing happens.

Since I'm not a person prone to following directions or rules, my drummer beats to its own cadence.  In the summer, I sat outside on my back deck under the stars surrounded by the warm wafting breeze, enraptured by the fireflies while listening to music.  Sometimes I had a hot mug of tea close by.  Sometimes I poured myself a glass of crisp white wine to sip on.  Behind me, music would play out of the speakers, filling the air around me with loving familiarity.  A whole evening would slip away as I sat in peace, allowing the thoughts and feelings transfer in and out of my consciousness as I listened to a few selected CD's.  One of them was Mark Knopfler's, Get Lucky.  This fall, I misplaced the CD.  I don't have a clue where it went because I never took it outside of the house.  Mysteriously, it disappeared and it has bothered me that I have lost my copy.  Since then, I have found other pieces of music..... some classical, some traditional choir music..... some jazz melodies.

Memories, ideas, beautiful faces from the past, fears, grief, gaps of wondering if I would ever find the answers.  It helped me to immeasurably learn that not only are there many important situational events in life that have no resolution, it doesn't matter if you just let go of their hold on you. Ah, but then there were moments of clarity when the messages reached me........ of how blessed I am.  How loved I am.  How contented I felt.  How you win some.  How letting those tears hiding inside the soul come alive when the light is shone on them. 

This gift I have been given first revealed itself over a year ago when I attended the Greenbelt festival and found myself exhausted and jittered with stressy complications walking into an ethereal feeling room called Soulspace.  I wrote about the experience, here, here and here.  (I had a lot to say!  It was so new to me that I wanted to capture its full essence....)  Yes, I had to fly across the deep Atlantic pond to find a way to stillness!  I am forever grateful because it has been my companion, my guide, my way of resolving the pain and hurt I have felt during my marriage break-up more than any other activity.  It was only this fall though that I learned while at a writing/meditation retreat that what I had been practising was a formal way of praying!  And to think I thought I was moving to an original beat! Of course it is a process tied into the school of the eternal. 

So, why do I bring it up this morning....... a seemingly typical November day that is about to welcome daylight in shades of grey?  It has been a while since the music from my summer moments sitting out in warm healing breezes under the stars returned.  But, when I open my eyes, I swear I could hear it playing...... you win some........ you might get lucky now and then........ you win some........ Knopfler's reliable voice was playing in my psyche.  Needless to say, I awoke calm.  I awoke with a smile on my face of memories of stillness... of sitting alone but never feeling alone.  

No need to seek out the place of centring.  It found me.  Its a part of me now.  Symbolically, this is truly a good thing.  Because this morning, I will meet the person who has played a key role in the pain and grief I am gradually to let go of.  For the first time, I will meet a stranger who already is meaningful in my life journey, who has altered it in ways I never predicted.  Revisiting the music and stillness I gravitated to last summer has set me up with a sense of readiness for this encounter.  It will allow me to express myself in a manner that has a tone of forgiveness towards a human being and not the ugly monster I had conjured up in my head.   All the nasty accusations have disappeared from my internal conversations....... I'm ready to be human to another human.

Healing comes under different shawls of comfort.  Healing comes when stillness leads you to the internal light that shines on a place where tears are made.  Healing comes when you feel the breath of God in every breath you take, knowing you're not alone.  Healing comes when the hymns of life transform the energy from the outside zip to the inside stories unfolding.  It's soul work.  Not easy.  It was the hardest work I've ever done...pushing through all of those raging feelings, learning how to pray in my own manner.  But, now that I am capable of it, I'm free.  And lucky.

Ps. By the end of the day, I will have another copy of that CD! 

in from the chill

Autumn has a teasing paradoxical soul heaped with both gratitude and scorn, bountiful harvests of plenty and bereft fields littered with discarded misfits. Colourful and muted.  It flirtatiously engages you with its vibrant reds and yellows and then grounds you with it's russet tones.

Autumn has a soulful melancholy lament when the frost-nipped wind is allowed to bellow and moan, bending the trees desperately trying to hold on to their youth.  Brittle bone leaves rattle-cackle as they tumble on grey pavement.  On the other hand, chilly cheeks and rosy lips nipped by the invitation from  the brisk air remind us that there is life in its sharp eyed allure in its breath. 

It's turning cold.  Night drapes early, echoing a bluesy cadence.  Stars shimmer a vibrant delight, flirting with harmonic blues. Inside, embers glow heat.  Light flickers a welcome to cocoon under soft fleece, to sip tea, to sit close, to rediscover the meaning of growing old together. 

Come in from the chill.......sit close with me by the fire.  It's time to share a few secrets only spoken on a cold autumn night....Time to come inside to enjoy the comforts of cozy talk, red wool socks, of quiet love, of slow dancing.  Let us celebrate life as this paradoxical season shifts into hibernation. 

this week's Photo theme is "turning cold...."  For more interpretations and variations, check out Carmi's blog right here!

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. 

friendship bouquets

Life has a way of throwing flowers at your feet. For goodness sakes, don't stomp on them! Pay attention!  Fancy blooms and a few  buds ripening ready to open are just laying there in a heap. Untouched beauty.  With a little attention and care and some creative panache, the bouquet is yours to add a warm glow to your surroundings.  I love bouquets and I'm determined to keep my eyes wide open to see them when they land. 

Conversations that ebb and flow with ease, and the sharing is a deep shade of indigo, bright yellows, perky orange, and the intimacy of a palette of pinks can have the same impact.  Connecting with another, knowing the conversation will be one that continues on into another and another, is like having flowers thrown at your feet every single time you meet.  With a little attention, care and some creative panache a relationship will add a warm glow to your surroundings....both inside and out.  These friendships come from a garden eternally growing blooms of cut flowers to admire from afar, or to snip off in order to create a unique bouquet to beautify your visual field.  

No two bouquets are alike.  No matter how hard you try to replicate an arrangement, it is always different.  The shades of colour, the straightness of the stems, the shape, and the size all play factors in creating a unique display.  The container you place them in, the way you handle them, the light reflecting off them, and the surroundings you put them in all.........external factors play a key role in enhancing or distracting from the blooms.  But you know what else is just as or even more important?  Its what you put of yourself into the creation of the bouquet.  Just like any relationship.  

Feed them both with love and tenderness.....with appreciation and respect for their beauty.  Take care of the little nicks, rough spots and blemishes while admiring the fact that this is what promotes uniqueness, and their gifts will reflect back to you.  Gifts you never even imagined.

Blossoming friendships need attention and respect.  When they land at your feet, don't ever question why they ended up there.  Only God knows that answer and he's not going to be blabbing about it!  And for goodness sakes, take good care where you tread.  Eyes wide open..........these blossoming friendship are everywhere.  This is what makes life so beautiful.  

Today, a new bouquet landed........... I will gently arrange the colour and contrast in one of my favourite vases and let it bloom as it will.  

As it will..........

Today, life threw flowers at my feet..... This friendship bouquet is for keeps.

Fellowship and Greenbelt

Fellowship is made from the combined essential oils of our souls.  Its fragrance lingers beyond the time spent together.  On days when our lips are parched, thirsty in need, the quiet eye contact of fellowship gladdens into a renewed smile.  It massages the lost and broken bits; pent up stress from never stopping to take a deep holy breath of belonging and leaves us refreshed in pensive comfort.  During the dark hours of winter light, the late summer fragrant breezes from tall grass, heather and lavender weave golden moments through our ladened tone that beat from our hearts.

A gathering is about to happen in a field across the pond.... a field dressed in Big Top stripes, fluttering wind streamers so colourfully vibrant .... a field nestled in the sleepy hills, surrounded by a rainbow of tents, filled with people eager to reunite in worship, music, dance, laughter.  Arm and arm, toe to rain wellie toe, toasting to life and love through the communion of celebration, they will meet to open their pores .... to soak in the sacred harmony hovering in the air above the Greenbelt Festival.  

May old friendships deepen

May new friendships take seed.
May conversations take you to new frontiers of learning.
May you find a space to let yourself breathe in God's spirit.
May moments happen that take your breath away.... and leave you with twinkling enlightenment.
May burdens lessen even for a short reprieve
May the sentiment of fellowship annoint you with the spritzed essence of soul-full essential oils.

Thinking of my friends who will be attending the Greenbelt Festival, which officially gets underway tomorrow......... but unofficially has begun in a curry restaurant somewhere in Cheltenham tonight.  I may be far far away in body, but in spirit......?  I just have to close my eyes to feel the connections, the colour, the life of a very special place. 

Enjoy!
Enjoy!
I will be there next year with bells on my toes!

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........................

across the waters.......it's so peaceful in here

I think I've discovered a new type of therapy.  Waterfalls Therapy.  Not the Niagara Falls kind..........the hidden in the woods, away from the world kind.  It's like finding treasure and serenity all rolled into one gift. 

Sometimes it takes a bit of exploring to find the falls, nestled secretly in the woods, out of view unless you know where to look.  But the journey is a part of the thrill of finding one of these treasures.  And in turn the first glimpse is guaranteed to put a smile on your face as well as the kind of child excitement that tickles you from your toes on up.

Our trek took us down a dirt road.  Initially, we walked too far because we were talking too much and missed the sounds we were supposed to be listening for.  When we turned back, we began to hear the rushing of water. Though we couldn't see the waterfalls from that angle, we took a chance and headed down a steep decline through the woods........taking it slowly and using the tree roots as footholds and branches as hand security.  As we made our way down, the view of the waterfalls came into sight.  It was gloriously cascading through a gorge which cut through the granite rock like a precision instrument and showered into an accumulating pool of cool, cool water.  The site was enough to take your breath away.

We made it down to the bottom of the falls, surrounded by the cliff gorge resplendent in pine and greenery ..... every single shade of green was present.  The sunlight filtered through the trees landing in patterns of its own making........ lighting various plants and ferns......... touching down on the moving water with a kiss of goodness.  With not another soul in sight, we had this little piece of heaven all to ourselves.  To say it was magical doesn't do it justice.   

A line from a Van Morrison song came to mind........ "This must be what paradise is like........it's so peaceful in here..." 

The irish have a term for that feeling when an acute sensory awareness of body, mind and soul merge into one.........when you feel that you are lifted up out of an ordinary life into an aura of enlightenment.  They refer to it as a "thin place."  You feel more alive and energized, but it is combined with an inner sense of calm that I can only describe as bliss.  When you reach this place the air is refreshingly oxygenated.  The more breaths you take, the more bouyant you feel. As your pores open up to receiving the happiness and hope floating all around you, it seems as though you reach a point where you believe anything is possible.  Anything is possible because you have been given the gift of inner completeness.

The feeling is fleeting......bliss never lasts.  But, the long term impact is life changing.  You enter a thin place, body mind and soul, and you are never the same again.  How can you be?  If you've tasted, touched, seen, heard and inhaled beauty, the lens with which you use to see your own world has shifted.  It reinforces one's belief in a Higher Power.  It offers you the best opportunity to slip a prayer into God's mailbox.  

You never ever forget the moment.  It is gratefully etched in memory.

On Canada Day, I quietly sat on a large rock in the middle of the woods halfway up a small gorge created by the flow of one river.  In front of me was an eternally cascading waterfall dropping down into a pool of water glistening in the morning sun.  Right beside me the water rushed past in rapid churning down to the bottom of the gorge where converged with another river forming swirling pools of water.   

The welcoming rumble tones soothed as well as exhilarated the thin air.........it's constant sound echoed off the granite walls in lullaby fashion, similar to the rolling in of tides.  I had no desire to move. In fact the whole multi-sensory experience allowed me to relax into a meditative repose of being placed right in the moment where time releases itself.  

Unburdened by all of the responsibilities and constraints of daily life, I sat in bliss.  In front of nature's altar, beside the rushing water, bliss kissed me.  And all the air went thin......... leaving me in a place of awakening I will return to in mind and body as often as I can this summer.

 Herman Hesse wrote, "Within you there is a stillness and a sanctuary to which you can retreat at any time and be yourself."  When you've experienced, JUST ONCE, the holiness of thinness, you have been given the key to finding that inner retreat again.  

The moments when you are captured inside a thin place may be fleeting, the sense of wonder nestles deep into our hearts where they glisten like prayerful gems, which reflect a dawning comprehension only felt when we are touched by God's grace.  Our lives are far more enriched when we are receptive to the possibility of this experience because I truly believe these may be our best attempt at understanding the mystery. 

a discard

red.  life.

i wonder how many storms this little umbrella weathered?

i wonder how many people it protected for so long?

now it lies on the side of the walk

rejected

discarded

bent and broken

but you know?

it may look that way...
its function has been altered by wind,

by nature's elements
but

it still radiates red beauty.

there's more life even if there is brokenness.

maybe even more than you know.

more than you know.

broken dream bewilderment

From the backside of a broken dream, I wandered into bewilderment and sacrificed sleep. Thought dawning began with this odd blink that left me a little bit confused, a little bit rattled, but with a memory smile.  

I asked myself....... what happened?  How had I fallen asleep and not known this for so long?  what woke me up?  or could it be ......... who stole my sleepy state?  Its an eye twitching, head scratching moment when bewilderment taps my tired temples.  

Should I have known this all along or was I tangled in your blue cuffs, stuck in the confusion of missed echoes resonating in the hollow silence between us? There were clues.  Sometimes I saw but couldn't decipher  the  faraway sketches blurred by time. Tonight, I'm left with those lightening bolt nerve endings which radiate from my heart and right out of my fingertips into the dark abyss.  

Will they reach you? I don't know.  You seem so very stuck too in the land of misguided nods.

As silence surrounds my reflective state, my senses become acute.  The air thins out until I can hear the faint sound of clicking glass beads, the whispering hum of prayer chanting well worn beloved words and you talking in your sleep.  Beautiful, you say......... and then I hear a name. 

Bewildering..........

pariah existence........

You could take a warm wet washcloth full of soapy bubbles and scrub your skin until it squeaks.  You could rinse away all of that accumulative dirt and grime, replace the tired clothes threadbare and worn with something clean and pressed. You could comb your hair, brush your teeth.  You could even take the time to put on make-up and tempt your lips with a glossy pink.  You could spray a small spritz of light perfume to linger on your freshened self.  And still, the feelings attached to being a treated like a Pariah seep out of your soul, leaving you feeling deep freeze cold. 

It is a wretched feeling to be cast aside, treated like you're untouchable.  Avoided by people who matter, you can't help but receive the loud message in the reverberating silent energy that hovers in the empty spaces.  

Unlovable.

Rejected

Ugly, ugly, ugly........

Soul Poverty isolation living in a shanty heart.

In no time, the Pariah begins to believe she is unlovable, unwanted.... a disgraced wench, scorned by the bitterness of another human being.

Every thing is left unsaid.

Feelings are left unspoken

An exile of the heart begins to form

Silence pokes holes into the unquiet mind making it weep a high pitched loneliness until it seeks out an inner sanctum where it can hide away from painful sorrow and dejection.  

A Pariah feels like she is seen as an apparition when in fact she is a warm blooded human being who yearns to be recognized as lovable and treated with tender attention. She wants to be touched....touched by the warmth of another human beings fingers..... embraced by another persons arms ..... kissed with tenderness.

Days are long

Nights are open-eyed longer as the need to be held, to be touched grows salty tears of longing. In order to survive, you soon learn to harden up, to build a protective shell, to distrust everyone around you.  

You turn into stone.  

A roughworn scaly grey Pariah stone.  

A stone feels no pain................a stone holds no moist tears.

Those tears have dried up and what you're left with are the remnants of what used to be.

Have you ever felt this way? How did you pull yourself out of this shameful feeling of unloved numbness??

replenishing

Whomever you connect with in your life at a given moment holds meaning deeper than surface contact. These people fulfill a need. Or two. Whether it is a sense of belonging, the desire for freedom, the thirst for survival, a craving for empowerment or control or a unsatiated taste for some fun, our personal needs drive our desire to connect with certain people.  We are seekers at heart, especially if there is a need to replenish something missing in our lives.  We are givers at heart too, because we have the capacity to help another fill their impoverished cups.

Then there are a few people, however, whom you stumble across in some unexplainable way. It feels predestined. Maybe not right away.  Maybe the meeting just leaves you wondering what exactly had happened and why was there an automatic internal reaction to the encounter.  Maybe you're left pondering ........why did it leave you with a whole mix of feelings, both puzzling and alerting?  Why the shake up?  More importantly why the instantaneous bond?  Sometimes it takes stepping away from the situation in order to think things through.....to reflect upon the impact it has made.

What is so odd about this type of attraction is that it seems to come out of the blue, or when you're the least expecting it. It often happens when you're guard is down or you're not in any way seeking.....  They simply arrive. Unannounced.  Knowing you.  Knowing on some sacred level you need replenishment that delves far deeper than the basic needs we tend to focus on.  It's like they penetrate right to the core of what matters, with this knowledge of you that you thought you had been protecting and hiding.  Surface talk reeks of irrelevance.  Instead, you find yourself confidently prepared to do a swan dive right into the pool of the soul. 

These are the people you have a soft spoken spiritual connection with.  These are the humans you are willing to crack open your soul to without hesitation.  Why?  Because there is a sense of safety and unconditional regard for your well being. Like falling backwards onto a soft downy bed, your Anam Caras, your soul friends are there to ensure you're not going to hurt yourself.

They are Angels. Guarding, protecting, accepting, listening, offering, loving, kissing our scars.  Angels, who see our true selves and with all honesty believe it is beautiful.  Guardian Angels who live amongst us, reinforcing truth, broadening our faith, and allowing us to see beyond our own lives and into a holywells where eternity dwells.  

So it's easy to understand that when they disappear without a trace into a cavern of silence,  taking away your sacredly shared secrets, the loss feels like an amputation of part of your own being.