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!  :)

half way moon rising......

Tonight, as I stood on my back deck catching up on the phone with my friend Mary who can always be counted on to reaffirm that I truly am not crazy and that I'm just this emotionally charged being doing the best she can to sort through the layers of stuff I seem to accumulate in the course of the day (the same way she does) I caught sight of two shooting stars and watched the half way moon rise up from the river. 

I whispered two wishes to myself as the stars shot across the sky.....wispy heart wishes.  Small significant desires that would mean a lot to me, but not to anyone else. I would like to ask for a wild wondrous wish, but I don't think I'm ready for that yet.  It would only end up feeling burdensome. 

The moon was resplendently dressed in orange as it revealed itself from the calm waters.  A half way wise moon waning to a crescent, waxing poetic knowing because she's been there and done that so many times. Sometimes she gets it right.  Sometimes the beautiful moon just hides behind a knot of clouds to take a breather from always having to be such a strong vibrant presence.  Even if you can't see La Luna in her golden gown aglow, you always feel like you can count on her to be strong. 

People keep telling me I'm strong.... how is this possible when I don't feel that way all the time? I don't feel strong.  But, how is strong supposed to feel?  Is what I project....this scrappy charisma that just seems to emanate from me the reason why people believe this of me?   Is it because even when I'm hiding away behind my knotted clouds, with raindrops dripping from tearducts, people continue to believe I'm capable.... made from soul alloys that will not break?  I don't get it.

When I balk at their comments..... "you're so strong.... you'll be fine....." and say, "no, I'm not as strong as you think I am..."  they don't believe me.  It makes me laugh at these moments when all of a sudden i'm in a debate as to whether I'm strong or not! Maybe because I end up laughing over the silliness of the conversation that it feeds the strength I'm supposed to have the market cornered on. Absurdity energizes. 

I am a strong person.......they are right.  I think. 

Do strong women tear up as much as I do?  Do they melt at first drop of tenderness?  Do they yearn to be cared for and romanced?  Or are they tough broads who need no one to help them.  Distress slips off these women like a negligee on a hot night with purpose.  Can you be strong yet vulnerable at the same time or are they opposites?

I asked the Halfway Moon dipped in orange as she slipped off her negligee into her naked golden light....... and you know what she said? 

"Strength brings on the tears of comfort.  Strength allows you to reveal your vulnerability.  It is why you can be in distress, yearn for romance, know you will find it.  Strength feeds your optimism and points you away from curses, towards the blessings in your life.  Life is all about doing and redoing as a means of learning.  

You are learning... and from that place where the best kind of learning happens.... in a growly unsettled place called discomfort. I see you rise up from the waters like I do, resplendently dressed in emotions of many colours.  You know those deep feelings intimately.  You know the layers accumulated throughout your jam packed somewhat bizarre interactive kind of days will slip off you."

Then, the Moon asked me.........

" Do you know how to settle inside your whole being and pray?"

"Yes," I answered.   "I've done that regularly throughout the summer but it always feels that I end up fractured with a million shooting stars bumping into one another in this cosmic head of mine. Fractured thoughts don't add up to strength.  They  make me feel incompetent, weak and incapable of managing the tasks I'm supposed to be responsible for.  They make me want to run away."

"But you don't, do you?  You don't run away...... the halfway moon pointed out...

"No I don't.  Sometimes I can shine in a confidence I don't even know the source of.  Sometimes I just hide behind my knotted clouds.  Sometimes I'm calm, just calm.  But, I never run away.  Quitting is not an option."

"Well, there you go," said the beautiful moon as she continued her ascent up into the darkened sky.  "You are aware of what you can do.  It may take longer than normal to get your act together to be able to accomplish what you want, but by the time your day is going to sleep and I am waking up in the night sky, you find in your reflections the blessings, not the curses.  I see it when I look down on you.  You find the calm waters....... and see the pool of possibilities.  No need to worry whether you're strong enough to forge ahead, to reach a place where you will be able to find balance again."

"You think so Half Way Moon?"  I ask.... still a little dubious.

"I know so......because you strive to make your gaze beautiful, you're half way there too.....sometimes waxing, sometimes waning..........it doesn't matter.  You're halfway there.  All the wiser.  All the stronger.  You colourful passion suits you. "  

It's a good thing to have a beautiful moon as a therapist.  I think I'm almost ready for the wild wondrous wishes.....  bring on the shooting stars.

furious angels

On those days when darkness covers the world around you, then somehow slips under your skin when you're not paying attention, you find yourself counting shadows instead of sheep.  Contented dreams remain out of reach. Calm is peppered by a hideous invasion of internal noises.  Shadows can be loud visitors.  They don't lovingly bleat like sheep and happily hop back over the fence. Instead, they stick around hovering under your breath until you begin to fall into night's bottomless cavern.

one,

two,

three,

four......

Shadows resemble a chorus of fear, accompanied by the looming rhythm of your own heartbeat. Regular pathumps intensify to a loud drumming of dread.  These pulsing disturbances push you past any realm of comfort to a suffering soul place. You're struck hard by the acute realization that you come from dust, and that no matter how hard you try... no matter how long you seek out relief through a solution, the fact is what it is. All suffering is simply a version of coming face to face with mortality. 

five ......................................................... six

seveneightnineteneleven

The din continues, ...... a nagging rapture of furious angels leap out from the shadows to summon your drumming heart. A blurring flurry of fussy wings thresh, summoning awareness that all you've ever known is not enough....that what you're struggling with cannot be fixed by your combative ego .... that the reins you've held onto so tightly for control have to be released.  When it feels as though the air can't be any darker, when the hum of angels hit a crescendo making the shadows dance like they have won, surrendering is the only option.  

Just when you're about to let go of any form of faith you have, your hands automatically turn upward with plea in your heart.  To stop the flight of furious angels.  You've heard their message.  It is then and only then that you have opened up wide enough to let in the light of God. .... to ask for His guidance.  

May you stay right there amongst the dancing shadows, the frenzied angels, and the pain of suffering until you can hear an answer to your prayer.  Don't let your ego get in the way. 

panic

Sometimes life just seems like an endless task of avoiding the truth. Every now and then your soul wakes up from a self induced dream state.........

to a hideous hangover
so stark, so raving, so real
you find yourself staring face to face
with all the lies you've swallowed.....
all the lies you've muttered
all the lies you've been told and had hoped against hope they weren't true.

you against them.

a pack of hungry lies
sitting in wait
ready to pounce
needy persistence pulsing desire
pushing on your temples
pressing down on your beating heart
with a pressure too painful to ignore.
blinding clarity and nowhere to hide.

panic sends streaking impulses into dead zones
bolts of fear curdling silent screams richochet
in the dark
as you realize
you realize
the lies are about to win.
the lies are about to your strip life
of the sinful colour you so intricately painted it.

Thank God we are such amazing escape artists.
sometimes...........

Its the other times that manage to rip your facade down to naked ugliness in all its flatulent glory that frighten me. Then, there is no where to hide from the panic. It's like being eaten alive.

'til it bleeds daylight

Fear trembles bottom lips just before the day is done.
Anxiety heats unsettled souls.
Our eyes stop blinking.
During the last vestiges of gold light upon golden leaves,
thoughts stir and whir in heart quivering spin cycles.
Stark images project on our internal screens,
stoking ash remnants of our innocence and
revealing the harsh realities of our "what if" scenarios.

mind over matter........
what is matter?

does it....... matter?

yes it does.

All we can do is to try our best.
All we can do is to ask God to dance with us.
What more can we ask of ourselves?
What more can we ask of God?
We're only human.
We're only human.....

......caught like a deer in the headlights.

Hey, God? Can you please add me to your dance card?

thoughts...

I was clicking around on the channels last night trying to find something to catch my attention. I had woken up after falling asleep on the couch....AFTER I had just experienced a horrendous nightmare. This one had seemed so real it left me completely freaked out. I had been stalked and attacked and then had to go through a trial where the perpetrator was shackled and locked in a small dog crate and all he did during the trial was stare at me with longing and lust and a smile on his face. Originally, the perp was unknown to me but while he was huddle up in this crate, he morphed into someone I knew.....someone I was once close to.

It creeps me out just thinking about it now......

shiver.....

So, I turned on the TV..... to find escape.....and all of a sudden, I'm watching the weirdest interview on a usually flippy late night talk show....Craig Ferguson is interviewing Bishop Desmond Tutu. They are talking about humanity, forgiveness, reconciliation, and on being human.....and I hear...."None of us comes into the world fully formed. We would not know how to think, or walk, or speak, or behave as human beings unless we learned it from other human beings. We need other human beings in order to be human. I am because other people are."

Tutu then talks about forgiveness and tells a story about a woman who spoke during the apartheid truth and reconciliation hearings in South Africa. The woman had been gang raped and burned alive. Her family was brutally murdered and she was left to die. However, she lived and spent months in a hospital healing her painful painful wounds. The time in the hospital left her with an unrelenting amount of time in her head processing her horrendous unimaginable experiences. When she healed and had the opportunity to speak out, she described her ordeal as life enriching and requested that she meet the perpetrator. She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to describe what she had been through, what she had lost. She needed to express her deep feelings, and her thoughts. What she wanted was for this man to ask for his forgiveness. But, more importantly, she wanted a chance to seek forgiveness herself.

It left me stunned....how could a woman who had been violated, beaten, burned and left alone with her family have a desire to express her own forgiveness?


Bishop Tutu talked about the fact that if we harbour resentment, if we choose to remain hostage to the vileness of hatred and to the evil all around us, we do more damage to ourselves. Still I wonder if I could be big enough to ask for forgiveness if I had been through such pain and sorrow. Where does this strength come from? How can one maintain any semblance of faith when one's whole world has been torn apart?


The story gives me hope....and makes me want to strive for that strength and resilience needed to overcome the very worst our nightmares and imagination can drum up. It also makes me shake my head in wonder.......makes me want to reach out and embrace those who suffer such atrocities to let them know that whatever strength i have to give, I want to lend it to them too.


We are all human because we learn about ourselves through other humans. We cannot "be" without the people in our lives nor without the experiences life throws at us.

getting through....recapturing peace of mind.

It seems as though I suffer more from the "getting throughs" at this time of year than in the peak of summer. Everything requires so much more effort starting from getting out of bed in the morning when its still dark out. It just feels so unnatural, like our own internal need is to hibernate....to sleep deeper, to stay tucked under the duvet, to wait until light begins to pour through the window. Just the knowledge let alone the reality of having deal with parkas, hats, mitts, big fur lined boots, icy sidewalks, cold cars just to get out the door in the morning to go to work can invoke the mind altering "getting throughs...."

"Can't I just stay home??? This is what the little whiney voice says in my head. "When does Friday come around again," it says as the aches of wanting to hibernate kick in.

I'm beginning to realize that my "getting throughs" are in direct correlation with the absence of enough light in my life. I need it to boost my energy. The paradox here, however is that I love winter nights when the pitch outside has an infinite space to it, when the twinkling lights inside glow brighter in contrast. I rarely feel the pushing sensation of wanting it to end, of wanting to get through it.

It's been a long week full of the regular responsibilities accompanied by a multitude of other activities thrown into the mix. Its left me with an empty cup. Somewhere in the middle of the week, my focus flipped forward with such yearning for Friday to come. That "in the moment" frame of mind kept slipping out of my grasp and the more it did, the more energy I had to expend in order to stay on task. Wishing one's week or day away is an unsatisfactory trap because you do miss out on the collective nuances of breathing the air around you.

I had a few amazing counselling sessions, and connected with a few colleagues at a deeper level.....sharing personal histories never shared before over the lunch hour. I celebrated the historic inauguration of Barack Obama, soaking up his stern message to anyone who was listening clearly that it was time to grow up and take some ownership on our global and personal affairs. I spent one evening trying with all my might to remember how to figure out the standard deviation of a bell curve. HELLO!?? Thank God for my blogging friend Breadbox who came to my rescue with a quick tutorial for my daughter who was studying for her Math exam. Thank you N!

All week, I advocated, conjoled, promoted, counselled, listened, interacted.....all good stuff but tiring too.....especially if your mindset is focused on the end of the week. I am literally all talked out and spent from listening and coaching and trying to find solutions. Spent. I havent one new idea in my head......not one. I used them up.....

So here I sit on a Friday evening....having made it through another week. I made it! I'm sitting on my oh so comfortable couch, snuggled into the corner, tucked in under great new blanket my parents sent as a Christmas present. Everyone is out tonight for a short while. The dogs are sleeping soundly. I can faintly hear the singleness of a lonely car driving by below on the old highway along the river. No music is playing. The TV is off. Every now and then, I stoke the logs in the fire and listen to the last of the sap steam through the cracks in the wood as the flames lap up in a heated dance. That's as boisterous I'm going to get tonight.

I'm happy, grateful, peaceful, warm, reminiscent, wondering and content. It's Friday evening and I'm enjoying every minute of it's nighttime darkness and inside twinking light in the quiet comforting silence of my home....a place where I can hibernate and recharge my batteries.

Oh, I wrote too soon.......! Gracie the puppy has just pounced up on the couch with her new bone and is desperately trying to bury it in my new blanket! Drats! Looks like I'll have to share this couch cocooning with rawhide and puppy breath. The little bugger has literally crawled up behind my back and is staring down over my shoulder watching my fingers hit the keys. Too funny.

Off to stoke the fire and find a chew toy for you know who.....and get back to the blanket before my bare feet feel the cold.

good night.......hibernation awaits...I've been so looking forward to it.

one star.....

The hunger to belong is at the heart of our nature. Cut off from others, we atrophy and turn in on ourselves. Mostly we do not need to make issue of belonging; when we belong, we take it for granted. Merely to be excluded or to sense rejection hurts. When we become isolated we are prone to being damaged; our minds lose their flexibility and natural kindness. We become vulnerable to fear and negativity. A sense of belonging, however suggests warmth, understanding and embrace. The ancient and eternal values of human life -- truth, unity, goodness, justice, beauty and love -- are all statements of true belonging.

Our hunger to belong is the longing to bridge the gulf that exists between isolation and intimacy. Distance awakens longing; closeness is belonging. Everyone longs for intimacy and dreams of a nest of belonging in which one is embraced, seen and loved. Something within us cries out for belonging. We can have all the world has to offer in terms of status, achievement and possessions, yet without a true sense of belonging, our lives feel empty and pointless. Like the tree that puts roots deep into the clay, each of us needs the anchor of belonging in order to bend with the storms and continue towards the light. Like the ocean that returns each time to the shore, a sense of belonging liberates us and empowers us to trust fully the rhythm of loss and longing. Like a welcoming circle of friendship, it also shelters us from the loneliness of life. Furthermore, when we belong, we have and outside mooring to prevent our minds from falling into the abyss within us. Though we may not reflect too frequently on the vast infinity that surrounds us, such infinity can be threatening; it makes us feel tiny, inconsequential and vulnerable.
John O'Donahue, prologue, Eternal Echoes; Exploring our Hunger to Belong.

Last night, I sat amongst a small group of friends in one of their homes which sits on a hill surrounded by pine and birch, looking down at the unpopulated shoreline of a section of the Saint John river headpond. It was the last gathering before our lives pull us in different directions, before routines rev up into high gear, before the shivering reality of early morning commutes to our work and school destinations have to be faced. We gathered to share a meal...to relax into an uncomplicated mellow conversation where laughter and quiet came freely. It was like a break for the brain. It felt comfortably relaxing like one feels during a massage. There was an inner sense of peace in every one of us. Wrapped up warmly, protected from the biting winter winds, we all felt a lovely sense of belonging within the home cocoon.

The Christmas tree, one cut from the nearby wood still contained its magic....the little white lights on its uniquely stretched limbs reflected beautifully in the window with the dark night lingering behind the glow. From where I was sitting, I could see beyond the treelights' reflection to one bright star out in the night sky. It was so brilliant, so alone and it outshone the sideways moon which seemed to be cloaked in a thin almost sheer muslin of clouds. One alluring star sitting in the east, hanging over the dark horizon winked. I wondered if it was the same guiding light seen by the Magi. It may have been.

I pulled on my coat, tucked my feet back into my boots and headed out onto the porch to get a better view of the solitary twinkling light. It wasnt until I stepped away from the protection of the house while standing on an unsheltered deck 15 feet above the hill, that I realized how bitterly cold and windy it was. It bit through my clothes, and stung my exposed face, the noise surrounded me in a way that made me feel the bite of insignificant vulnerability. The contrast between the quiet warmth belonging amongst friends and the stark isolation surrounded by the wrath of whistling nature was startling. And yet, I was only a couple of feet away from them, still visible, still connected.....my roots planted in the common clay.

I stood beside the outreaching branches of a mature birch tree, one that shades this deck from the summer heat which now stood nakedly majestic.....and I looked up at the star through the tree's bare branches. The wind made the birchskin flap furiously making a rattling old bones noise. The branches scratched each other like nails on a dry skin. Eerie sounds creaked out of the nearby wood, crackling cold amongst the siren lament.

These sounds met my thoughts, which drove me eastward to a place far away from the place where I stood alone. They accompanied my wondering, as I tried to picture the scene unfolding below the same star in a the area where the Magi once journied to acknowledge and to celebrate the birth of a very special baby. I realized this star would not be visible to them from their vantage. This star would be blocked by the violent outpouring raining down on them. No peace in the East. No rest on their land. No reassurance when they peered at their nightsky. Just fear, and bitterly cold harsh anger.

Why? The storied history of the Middle East is a tightly woven complicated strangle which defies my understanding. Resolution and peace seem impossible when surrendering and letting go are marked with the lack of any ability to see beyond one's own interpretation of the history which continues to defiantly unfold below the bright star. Boundaries and borders made up by human beings......fought over with such unrelenting vengeance. I can't imagine it will ever cease. As I stood alone, surrounded by the vastness of my country's unoccupied land, I was left wondering if it all came down to a hunger to belong. Are they fighting for the empowering liberation a sense of belonging provides? Is this the hungry insatiable battlecry?

One star.....millions of eyes gaze at one star......and ask the same question about a place where peace never seems to belong. It echoes a hunger so deep, it's cry penetrates our own.

I stepped back into the fold of my own belonging......crawled up onto a sofa so comfortable and welcoming and fell asleep thinking of the Magi, thinking of the star, feeling for a place where the Prince of Peace was born....and wishing I could bottle my comfort to sprinkle on the souls who know no rest.

tonic for her clenched soul

Another restless night as the wind outside whipped up storm clouded confusion. It was a persistently lonely howl on a moonless planet that managed to push in between the souls who tossed and turned as they wrestled with their dreams. The wind encased them, stripping away any sense of connectivity to one another.....like coffins separated by walls of dirt. It felt like eternity soaked into one long, long night.

Darkness finally turned into daybreak. It was a daybreak, however, without an end to the elements speaking in anger. No lipstick sunrise on the horizon, only the welcoming of grey laden skies weeping in grief with no end in sight. The wind was winning over humanity. Dominance laced with growling moans of lost ghosts demanding refuge, it wailed in pain.

She lay in bed listening to the howls caught in the abandoned branches stripped of green light and realized that her own thoughts and feelings surged inside her with as much ferosity as the wind. Thorns cut into her own clenched aches like a harmonious dirge. Without hestitation, the winds outside upped the ante slamming gusts of rain against the side of the house. Like it was responding to her thoughts, the wind challenged this very idea that this women's ache equalled the wrath of the wind. It shook the foundation of the house, splaying painful torrents against the windows. It lifted the soggy leaves and broken discards up into the air with sorrowful wailing gales from the lost souls.

"I dare you," the wind shouted....."I dare you to believe your wrath is more powerful than my own."
"I DARE YOU to show me!"


Alarmed by the very idea that the wind was speaking to her, the woman's eyes popped open. It was challenging her to what? A dual of sorts? She was too tired......too exhausted to find the energy to respond. Her internal wanderings fed by her own indecisions, anger, frustration and tears of loss and what might have beens provoked the desire to simply pull the covers up over her head and drown out the mighty boastful wind. But, she was stronger than that and never ever stepped away from a challenge. In no time, she was dressed and out the door as she pulled on her rain slicker to go for a walk into the wind. Determined, she marched right into it's eye, up the hill to the fields flooded with new rain and muck, her soul clenched anger feeding her the energy she needed.


The wind beat her back, but she persisted to push through it's wrath as it wrapped around her body, making her coat flap behind, making her face pull in it's rapture. Her hair quickly became drenched; her shoes muddied in the mixture of cloudspills and wet clay. At first her own thoughts bellowed back at the wind..............rage against rage............sorrow bumping into sorrow......pain pushing pain..... her own torrent of tears spilled with the rain.

Why is life so difficult, she asked? Why do I have to suffer so much when I know what I want? Why can't the happiness and not the struggle be the gift from God? The wind spitwhistled through her, filling her ears with sound as she trudged up the hill. Before she knew it though, she found herself standing at the top of the hill overlooking the swollen river, angry in it's own right, flowing like a large belch of brown sludge. The canopy of trees surrounding the field were bent in mercy as their roots held on in frightful hope. She was surrounded by the nature which normally acted as a refuge. Today, however they seemed to be fighting their own battles. Or maybe, they fought alongside her?

She took it all in, surveyed the landscape held ransom to the vengeful wind, and suddenly found her internal noise was being buffered by what seemed like the groans of a thousand ghosts, in much more pain than she had ever suffered. Their pain became hers. Her pain then molded into theirs and soon she realized that though she was standing in the field defiantly all alone, she was part of the swooning forces of nature. A thought entered her muddled head. Someone had once told her that all it takes is to look at one grain of sand and one would know the glory of creation. One grain of sand she thought, as she acknowledged the fury churning in the river down below, and the wind all around her. One grain of sand held the mystery. And with that one thought the wind turn into gusts. It stopped it's incessant bellowing and took a breath. In between the gusts, when there were minute lulls, the wind's loud voice turned into a whisper which echoed one word over and over again like a mantra ..... repent ..... repent.... repent. Then it would kick back into a gale.

She heard it clearly......... repent....... ask for forgiveness......... feel the shame and guilt and ask for forgiveness. Forgiveness for what she wondered? The world blasted against me, what do I have to do with how this forsaken life has unfolded? I have tried and tried to do what is right, what I believed was my responsibility. I have lived as best as I could up to the standards expected of me, and yet I am constantly let down, diminished, abandoned, rejected. Why should I repent for God's sake??? What do I have to repent??? I just want to be recognized for who I am and not rejected or left on the sidelines.


"Humility," the wind responded....."Defiance. Not relinquishing your strong desire to control the forces instead of realizing you are one with them. A speck of sand may seem inconsequential at first glance, but it holds the mystery of all of creation. A speck of sand washed up onto a shoreline has surrendered to the elements and has allowed itself to be validated as one of many. No one is more special than anyone else. No grain of sand feels special. It is simply part of the universe, as you are. A speck of sand and YOU are one in the same."

This message brought her to her knees in realization that she was trying too forcefully and in the meantime brushing back the people and the forces who were in her life to befriend her. Rather than accept herself for who she was, she constantly fought back and in so doing left people in her wake feeling threatened by her yearnings. Shame washed over her as the dawning pressed on her temples. Destiny cannot be thwarted. Destiny cannot be altered no matter how hard you try to manipulated the circumstances. Trust in the universe is the way to be. Sure we have the strength to help overcome some day, but it will only happen if one trusts that life will unfold as it should.

Enlightened, she fell into a heap on the ground and thought about all the winds she chased after......all the causes she fought in what she had considered were good deeds. She thought of the people in her life who mattered, the moments in her life which mattered. The pictures played quickly through her mind and then came to a sudden halt when she finally realized that the world wasn't an "us against them scenario." Rather, it was a single solitary oneness.....the essence of all that she was made of was an accumulation of the past which was held in the ground she knelt upon and the future which was held in the hands of God. At that moment, she looked up into the skies and let the rain wash over her like a cleansing baptism.

Time lost meaning as she knelt in the thinness of the moment of feeling a sense of surrendering peace as she spoke the humbling words....."please forgive me....."

Soaked, tired and vulnerable but also feeling empowered, she pulled herself up and let the wind carry her down the hill to her home where the people she loved were waiting for her to make breakfast....a big Sunday breakfast as always. She couldn't wait to put the kettle on to make herself a hot cup of tea......tonic for her soul. It was time to restart the day with a new set of eyes. It was time to give thanks.


****Written with a lot of help from The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. I highly recommend the book if you havent read it yet. *****

I am Discomfort.

I dwell in the dark night of your soul where ache and yearning cuss and moan. I'm not well liked. In fact most people avoid me until they have no choice by to arrive at my doorstep. Most of my visitors begin their journey around twilight, when hope intermingles with doubt. I'm predominantly nocturnal, absorbing light and all colours to form my black cloak. But behind the cloak, I'm your naked image, vulnerable to the cold winds of reality. No, I'm not a pretty sight...with birthing stretch marks displaying the struggles I have faced. But, if you stay awhile, you will see my inner beauty. You will know that I'm on your side.

My name is Discomfort.



Dizzying Discomfort............I spring forth with fumes of light headed enlightenment, even if it's not wanted. I have the ability to burrow under your skin, or to tap, tap, tap on your conscience. I will nestle into the pit of your stomach and make you long for that zone where my nemesis comfort dwells. But who wants to go there? If you stay with me, I will offer you awareness, insight............a place to make decisions. I will take away your yearning, at least for a little while. I will help you find the compass to guide your way through the transitional twilight, out of the bear growling wilderness and into a pasture where sunrises express hopeful glory.



My name is Discomfort.



I may absorb light..........stay hidden in the haunting shadows of despair and doubt, but believe it or not I also hold your dreams until you're ready to take a risk. The journey to my dwelling may be fraught with confusion, aversion and dislocation............but I will make it worth your while. Why? Because I am where all learning takes place.

I am the salt left from weeping, the ache in your misery, the sting of new stretching.....the sensitive side of surrender. I am the beauty in your wounds. I am in the rising of passion.

Trust me............please?

belonging

There is a difference when you get to play under the lights. It's like the air is electrified with magical faery dust alerting the senses that perhaps something grand is occuring.

Do you remember when your mother told you to come home when the lights went on? In the summer, the lights don't come on until it's really late, and if you pushed that "rule" envelope and stayed out past twilight when the sky is a deep purply blue, it felt like you had entered into a realm usually forbidden to children. There was a lightness in the new freedom of crossing into evening play.

As the sun set on the evening at the ballpark, I watched the kids on the field take on a different intensity in their play..........like they were on their own field of dreams playing like the pros. They loved their time under the lights. Beyond the diamond a group of wee little ones, the brothers and sisters attending? They were swarming and buzzing all over their own play field dancing like little faeries free from the regular rules of bedtime routines. Their own excitement electried the air around them.

Night time can be foreboding if it is enveloped in loneliness and detachment. It can seem like eternity gone sour. So many live under this kind of streetlight in our communities.......no fun there.....no sense of connection to the magic of possibilities. No playful feelings. The focus is solely on survival in the margins. Our human being needs encompass more than survival but when that's what is front and centre, the other needs are left out in right field........ And yet, if somehow the alone person can feel that welcoming sense of belonging to a team, to a family, to a group of friends who can show them that living under the lights doesn't have to be so frightening all alone, then survival becomes manageable.

Attachment to others, on a level playing field, and under the lights? It is what we all yearn for isn't it? We can't play the game without a team, and without knowing you're a part of it.

Saturday night sunset

I just got back from taking my dog for a walk while taking a few pictures of tonight's artistry. We took our usual route, up the hill from my house and along a rural-ish road which has the most spectacular unobstructed views of both up and down river. Isn't it stunning?

I have a strong wish too that one day the old farmer who owns most of the land along this part of the road will knock on my door to let me know he would like to sell me a little patch to build a log home with a wrap around deck. I'd situate it quite close to where these pictures were taken, up a little higher on the hill. Every single time I walk this stretch, I picture myself living right there.

I never grow tired of living in this part of the world. Sure, there are times when I long for the pace and variety of the big city. I do miss the multicultural flavour of Toronto and the excitement of attending concerts and pro sports events. But then, I stop and look around at the realness of the landscape and the every evolving artwork in nature........... and my deep breaths fill my lungs with clean fresh goodness.

As well, I'm only 10 minutes (no rush hour) from my office........both schools my kids attend are close by. This allows me a chance to take part in the events at their schools without it being a time constraint issue. I couldn't do that living in Southern Ontario. Everything would be so much more weary producing, and no doubt I'd miss most of the important things my kids are involved in.

Last night my daughter Martha and I took Lily for a walk after the sun had completely gone to sleep. Our walk took us down our quiet street and up a path to a small field........initially our chatter consisted of sharing a few snippets from our individual days until we looked up into the sky from where we were standing in the little field. The whole sky was filled with stars............millions and millions of stars winking down on us. With very little artificial light around us, we could see even the tiny pinprick stars that would be lost from the view from a city. Views like that truly leave you whispering in awe.

Lucky and blessed, on so many levels. I loved sharing that quiet moment of grace with her. We stood there for a period of time oblivious to the cold night air, soaking in the canvas, whispering our acknowledgement of how lucky we really are. Who knows, maybe one day when she's having a tough day like we all do, Martha will channel her thinking back to one of these whispering awe moments to help anchor her back to where she belongs. I know I do.

the full monty.....

The the boldfaced moon followed us home tonight.....not in a sneaky manner like it does sometimes when it teases you with peaks behind the clouds, or when it only gives you a partial half-monty looksee. No tonight, it flashed it's fullness, courting a swaggering sense of bravado. You couldn't miss it, the brassy bugger.

full stop.....?

Jack Pine

Tom Thompson, Group of Seven

In an article yesterday in the Globe and Mail author, Yann Martel who was writing a piece challenging the Prime Minister to take some time to "be still" in order to read and appreciate the breadth and beauty of the writing generated by this country wrote something that made me smile as well as reflect.

"To read a book, one must be still. To watch a concert, a play, a movie, to look at a painting, one must be still. Religion too makes use of stillness, notably with prayer and meditation. Just gazing upon a still lake, upon a quiet winter scene -- doesn't that lull us into contemplation? Life it seems, favours moments of stillness to appear on the edges of our perception and whisper to us, "Here I am. What do you think?"

"Then we become busy and the stillness vanishes, yet we hardly notice, because we fall so easily for the delusion of busyness, whereby what keeps us busy must be important, and the busier we are with it, the more important it must be. And so we work, work, work, rush, rush, rush. On occasion, we say to ourselves, panting, "Gosh, life is racing by." But on the contrary: Life is still. It is we who are racing by."

Interesting that Martel never mentions writing. And he shouldn't have. Writing is not conducive to stillness. The act of writing churns up the contemplations and captures the stillness. It is a very busy, mind racing (at times) process. The grace notes between the act of putting words to thoughts, before one even begins to generate the ideas, the direction with which one wants to go with a piece of writing, when one does take the time to read, to pray, to inhale the beauty of the landscape all around us is stillness.

It is stillness which feeds our soul.
It is stillness which nurtures our creativity.

Then, why are we so afraid of welcoming stillness into our lives when it can add such depth and breath to our need for creativity? More specifically, why is it more difficult to welcome stillness during the deep part of the night? Is it because it seems foisted onto you, with no real cubby holes to shelter ourselves from the shadows we do our very best to avoid during our clickety clack busyness?

The other night, I woke at 3 am. This happens often. I have no problems falling into a deep sleep at a regular hour. None at all. But, as quickly as I fall asleep, it is that quickly when I find myself WIDE awake. My sleep deprivation.........my insomnia began after years of disruptive sleep when my children were babies, and has continued to haunt me. Often I use the time to write or read others blogs. Sometimes I'll turn the TV on to lull me back to sleep or pick up a book or a magazine and read. It's quiet...........I feel safe................it's alright. I can envision others who are awake and feel connected to them.

Sometimes however the stillness becomes a stark ugly gape of loneliness, which is how it felt the other night. A bit of panic, a desire to be with someone, a surge of fear resonating the realities of life and death, and an inability to focus on any busyness tactics whatsoever. Quiet felt like an enemy. Even telling myself that the deep part of the night lasts for a short duration didn't help. As stillness was foisted on me, many messy complicated thoughts drove it to a loud crescendo in my mind. Instead of initially going with it, accepting it as an opportunity to sort out my feelings, my mind fought the stillness, until finally I reached a point where I decided to surrender to it.


I let the feelings out as I sat cuddled under a blanket on the couch while looking out a the darkness of the night. No stars. No moon. No movement. Just an onslaught of thoughts which left me feeling very small in a big world. Alone. Stripped of armour. Struggling in my own poverty. Even in a home that is comfortable and filled with my sleeping loved ones. Alone. Trying to sort out the messiness which gets covered up during the day by confident busyness, by direction and distraction.

And it was alright. The longer I remained physically still, breathing and thinking became more still. I focused on the stillness as I slowed down. I could feel myself more accepting of the vulnerability I was feeling, knowing full well that I am no different than everyone else in this vast village............. it was alright. I don't have all the answers. I am more than the persona I project in my busy life. Poverty is where one is touched by God.

After an hour or so, I picked up the book "Becoming Human" by Jean Vanier which I had been reading the night before. I had a few pages left........beginning with this paragraph:

"To be free is to know who we are, with all that is beautiful, all the brokenness in us; it is to love our own values, to embrace them, and to develop them; it is to be anchored in a vision and a truth but also to be open to others and so, to change. Freedom lies in discovering that the truth is not a set of fixed certitudes but a mystery we enter into, one step at a time. It is a process of going deeper and deeper into an unfathomable reality."

The truth shall set you free.........hmmmmm...................

Stillness foisted during the middle of the night stark darkness is where truth, our own truth hovers........cloaked in frightening realities. It is where we can, if we are willing to look and listen, take a step into the abyss where freedom transcends. It is the place where we are the most human. Truth is not an easy road. Truth can be painful.............the rippling reflections of truth sometimes make us turn the other way and run, they can make us feel very alone. Truth can also be the key to recognizing our connections to one another in a place where we are all impoverished.

The rest of the long night flew by as I spent time finishing an amazing book written by a truly inspiring man, sitting still under my blanket realizing that there's nothing better than time spent figuring out a mystery. Did I find any answers? Perhaps a few steps towards some answers. Nothing mind boggling gobsmacking........no. But a few steps were taken towards my understanding of who I am and where I fit, of what it is to be an adult human being. Lots of middle of the night stillness in my future to try to wrestle with the shadows.

One shadow at a time.....it's the best I can do.

PS............If you havent read Becoming Human, or any of the other books and essays written by Jean Vanier, founder of the L'Arche communities, I would highly recommend it.