wilderness....

"The soul is full of wanderlust. When we suppress the longing to wander in the inner landscapes, something dies within us. The soul and spirit are wanderers; their place of origin and destination remain unknown; they are dedicated to the discovery of what is unknown and strange."

John O'Donohue, Eternal Echoes

Frightening, the inner wilderness...it's easier to stay within the confines of the flock and not venture beyond the wire fence..... to wander through wonder.  It's risky and full of unexplored territory.  It can tip you off balance, and leave you without the ability to read the map.   A kindred friend wrote this about seeking out the mystery which only a journey into the wilderness can offer.....  As always, he made me think in a smiling sort of way..... (and miss the thoughts and feelings he used to share on his blog....)

"It was John Muir, that patron saint of the great outdoors, who stated that, ‘in wilderness lies the hope of the world.’ And if we understand that everything within God’s creation is connected to everything else, then this isn’t some romantic vision, but a prophetic word providing a legacy for a deep spirituality available to us all.

The truth is that the great religions of the World have always been nourished in the Wilderness."

We are innate seekers, introspectively and outwardly.  Deep in our bones is the drive to explore, to seek out new horizons in an attempt to find answers, to challenge our sensibilities, to stretch beyond our boundaries, to broaden our visibility.  We are home bodies too..........in need of reassurance every now and then that we belong to a flock, especially during those times in our lives when our knees weaken from wavering confidence.

It seems to me that this time of year, our wandering needs heighten as we contemplate a deeper understanding of the connections we have with the wilderness around us and in us.  It's much easier to do when you know you have a "home" to return to.  It might be easier, but is it  necessary?
I used to belong to one ..... one with walls and a steeple, with a pulpit and pews.... with a bell that would ring the call of worship.  For now, I wander.  I'm in the wild, with a picture in my mind of what a new home would feel  and look like.  It's a good place for me to be.   And you know what?  I keep bumping into people I know. That certainly makes it easier and much more fun.

Soulspace part three..... a summoning to prayer

If you're interested and haven't read the story I've been writing about a place named Soulspace which overlooked the Greenbelt Festival site?

Part one is here

Part two is here.....

I happily post this piece on the 4th anniversary of starting this blog. WOOO HOOO!

___________________________________
Soulspace part three: A Summoning to Prayer.


"The heart is the place where beauty arrives; here is where it can be felt, recognized and shared. If there was no heart, beauty could never reach us. Through the heart, beauty can pervade every cell of the body and fill us. To use a word that feels like it sounds: this is the thrill of beauty through us. Perhaps this is why we sometimes feel the absence of beauty in our lives; we have allowed the prism to become dull and darkened; though the light is near, it cannot enter to have its inlay of beauty diffused. Sometimes absence is merely arrested appearance. Compassion and attention keep the prism clear so that beauty may illuminate our life. Prayer of course is the supreme way we lift our limited selves towards the light, and ask it to shine into us. "
John O'Donohue,
Beauty, The Invisible Embrace.

Little by little, the books and articles I have been reading and the interviews I have listened to about faith, spirituality, and human behaviour over the past four years are being synthesized. Changes in my perspective on how I want to live my life have profoundly impacted the way I see outwardly and the manner with which I explore inwardly. Writing on concepts and ideas triggered by what I've read has helped this process considerably. Discussing them with people in my life, especially my husband whose knowledge of religion and history and his personal religious beliefs far exceeds my own, has helped me digest it beyond simple comprehension and has helped my confidence grow ... a confidence that propels me to seek out more, to step into new, to question it fully, to feed my excitement about walking into the wild where answers are open for interpretation.

Instead of having doubt stop me from exploring, it is now just a component of healthy perambulations into the world of believing in God. Doubt is needed, just as much as certainty, just as much as infinite curiosity.
Of the authors who have touched my ever hungry heart and head, John O'Donohue has been my chosen guide. His intricately woven poetic prose with all its layered meaning quenches, refreshes, surprises, acknowledges, teaches, affirms, blesses. Throughout my 4 days of attending the Greenbelt Festival, I truly felt his presence and I thought long and hard about the lessons I had learned from him. It both saddened me knowing I would have to wait to meet him beyond this world and made me smile knowing how profoundly he had emotionally and spiritually moved many people who were attending the same festival. In fact it was because of two very special people in my life whom I met through blogging who also encouraged me over the past two and a half years to join them at Greenbelt to drink all that it can offer, that I even learned about John O'Donohue in the first place. (I'm smiling now just thinking about them. I always smile thinking about them. Beautiful human beings they are, they are. :) )

Soulspace seemed perfectly constructed to deeply feel this Irishman's gifts. Perhaps this is why I was struck so quickly with a burst of emotions when I first entered the room set aside for contemplative quiet time. When I opened the door and stepped into Soulspace, the reason behind my "need" to attend Greenbelt flooded me extraordinarily. When I stood at the window and looked out at the tents, the people, the movement and the green rolling hills in the background, I was floored by its beauty, by a sense of the miraculous, by a feeling that Father O would've loved this Soulspace. His words filled me..... his descriptions I had read over and over (always deepening my own understanding of what Beauty is) were within reach. The possibility of "lifting my own limited self "was there at my fingertips.... all in the wanting.

Other guides who have reawakened me were there too in my thoughts. When I found myself sitting down to rest in that place called Soulspace, unsure of what to do next, I was pleasantly surprised that the words I had read on prayer written by Father Anthony de Mello spoke to me. It was de Mello's book Awareness which kickstarted this part of my journey in the first place, and gave this blog it's name and theme. He woke me up with his irreverent reverence. I've always thought O'Donohue and de Mello would've enjoyed each other's company. Their passion, their intelligence, and their desire to poke and prod, to interact with God with infinite curiosity and a confidence to be themselves seemed similar in many ways. Sadly, they both died suddenly and way too soon for those of us here on earth. Perhaps they have crossed paths in Heaven, eh? I'd like to think so......

Ok, where was I.....? Father de Mello had simplified prayer and de-mystified the process for me by suggesting that prayer was stillness and meditation. It was about learning to breathe calmly. It was about listening to everything around you, allowing it to blend into your own thoughts. It was about allowing your thoughts to come and go while you learned to think with your heart. Praying wasn't always about reciting rote words. It didn't have to happen sitting with your head bowed in a pew. Hands don't have to be clasped. Heads can be bowed or not. It could happen anywhere, and would be just as powerful if you take the time to stop, be still and breathe. In and out. In and out. In and out.

I followed his direction and did exactly that. I let my body find its natural resting place. Given how much it needed rest, it was easy to comply.... so much easier than in past attempts. When your body is unable to keep up the defensive shield....the mask, when you simply cannot help but feel vulnerable, the prism of self leaves openings for the light to get in. "There are cracks in everything, " Leonard Cohen sings..... "that's how the light gets in."

My eyes closed, my body slackened. I held the little heart shaped sandstone I had chosen before I entered Soulspace in my left hand and felt its presence. For some reason that stone held within its rough make up a connection to purpose. Somehow the little chosen touchstone represented me and all of my complications. As much as I was entering into a relaxed zone I had never gone emotionally, spiritually, physically, the stone reminded me of me. It lay in my hand, scratching my consciousness. I couldn't help but lose my focus on the summoning to prayer because of its scratchiness.

Another piece of absorbed learning however soon altered the path of my thinking, away from feeling that the sandstone would interfere with any attempt at prayer. I was rescued by Frederick Buechner, an American clergyman, whose thoughts and words on this subject have continued to reach me like finding a brightly coloured welcome mat in front of an open door to a place I want to enter and become familiar with. His thought-full and believable description of what a prayer is also filtered into my thoughts as I sat growing more and more comfortable in my own "soulspace." He wrote:

"Everybody prays whether [you think] of it as praying or not. The odd silence you fall into when something very beautiful is happening or something very good or very bad. The ah-h-h-h! that sometimes floats up out of you as out of a Fourth of July crowd when the sky-rocket bursts over the water. The stammer of pain at somebody else's pain. The stammer of joy at somebody else's joy. Whatever words or sounds you use for sighing with over your own life. These are all prayers in their own way. These are all spoken not just to yourself but to something even more familiar than yourself and even more strange than the world."

I smiled to myself while revisiting this passage now internalized as a permission slip to go on with life knowing I was someone who prayed and that prayer was LIVING life emotionally and expressively. Prayer is a good thing and not a foreign mystery others employed on Sunday mornings in little white churches. It is not something to be in awe of, or to be afraid of. It is not something to be dismissed as a crazy ritual separated from the rest of living and doing. We don't have to behave like worshipping lemmings to receive its holy medicine. All we need to do is to be open to being awake and responsive to the world around us. All we need to do is open the door to our own heart.... aha.... aha ....

in and out
in and out
in and out
the door creaked opened
my shoulders and neck offered up its tension......
I entered into a thin air space
light, airy, refreshed with oxygenated insight
It happened ...... as naturally as inhaling air.....

I began to hear a choir softly singing a repetitive hymn. The alluring somewhat familiar sound seemed to come from the floor in front of me like a soothing spa I could fall into. A repetitive beat of drumming moved in to accompany the choir. At times the two forms of music seemed separate, like i was hearing it from different ears and at other times, it had blended into one like a flowing harmony.......quiet, soft, inviting me to enter into it. Strangely, I hadn't heard the music until I had silenced the noise inside me.

I thought of Father de Mello's advice........to be open to the sounds around you and to allow them to merge in with your breathing. For once, it seemed like a natural process. As my breathing became softer like I was falling asleep, my whole body stooped forward, my head tilted down. Currents of worries and tension, of stressful adrenaline and fatigue stopped circling inside me. The constrictions swimming through me which had caused my energy to feel depleted loosened its grip and I could literally feel the baggage I had been carrying around (some of it for a very long time) started to drop off me through my hands. The river water dropped out of my fingertips......

I pictured this letting go process as water coming from little tributaries flowing into a larger river of its own unfolding. The choir continued. The drumming accompanied. I was beginning to sit in the oneness of the sound on a raft going down a lazy river flow. In and out In and out In and out....
Unwelcome noises startled me a couple of times as I tried to stay on the raft. A little boy who was standing at the window overlooking the glorious vista down below and outward began asking his father questions in a loud voice. At first I was irritated. It felt like an invasion and I could sense my thoughts were being pulled into my irritation. Determined not to lose "the moment," I tried to block the noise. I tried to ignore it. When that didn't work I was reminded again of Father de Mello's suggestion and changed my thinking. Within seconds, I began to hear the little boy's voice as innocence and not as an irritant. Soon, his inquisitiveness filtered in, blending into hymnal choir. His voice became part of the drumming.

It was amazing! Once I realized how easy it was to fold the soul scratchy noises into my meditation, I was able to continue doing so. I had started with a feeling that I was being summoned to prayer, but some time during that experience, I had become empowered to do the summoning. The openness to it rather than the blocking of it had turned me into a relaxed compliant vessel.

Thoughts came to visit but only stayed for a short time and then moved on....down the river. Feelings came to visit but only stayed for a short time and then moved on.....down the river.....

in and out
in and out
in and out........
my breathing seemed lightly automatic and I stayed aware of it

Suddenly, my whole body quickened tight when I realized no one knew where I was. Not one important person in my life, both at home and at the festival knew where I was! Initially it left me fearfully vulnerable. I had lost touch. I was all alone. There was no where to hide. No one was coming to my rescue if I needed them to. I wasn't in a place either where I could be reached if they needed me. Isn't this how I had always defined myself? Isn't this the sustenance which fed my ego..... this sense of always being needed?? Surely someone must be looking for me. Someone must need me I thought. A strong pull to put a halt to this personal prayer moment gripped me.

Again, de Mello's advice soothed me..... let go of the thinking.... there is no urgency needing my attention and more importantly, let go of my ego... my sense of importance for once and just be. It helped to know that the two women I connected with at a talk on Empathy in a tent called Hebron earlier, who originally told me about Soulspace.... the same two women who serendiptously greeted me at the entrance to this sacred room just minutes before were most likely sitting where I had found them. They knew I was in here. They had embraced me like a sister and pointed me in the right direction.

I softened..... returning back to the sound of the choir, the beat of the drumming..... My learning was there too, visited by guides who had taught me through their own words, their own learning. God was there too. No, I didn't hear Him. No, I didn't see Him. I just knew because as quickly as my ego anxieties were alert, they left me floating on the raft. Safe.

work, life conflicts, uncertainties, tangled love, chaotic mishaps, self doubts..... toxic thoughts and complicated feelings which clog the tributaries of souls including my own began to loosen. Stillness arrived.......stillness like I have never felt before found me. Time slipped away from me. As I sat within the otherworld's timelessness, I seemed to find myself outside of the blur of everyday life. It lost meaning and my experience in the blended integration I felt meditating illuminated the boundaries around me. I no longer heard the noises, or felt the movement of others. The sound of the choir and the drumming wove in and out of my awareness. I found a comfort I had never touched upon before.

In the midst of this stillness, the slow shallow in and out of air, I was tapped with a realization that I had somehow opened my left hand, allowing the rough heartshaped sandstone drop to the floor. Given how symbolic it had become, this disturbed me enough to open my eyes. I looked down at my hand and saw that it was still closed and yet I couldn't feel the stone scratching the palm of my hand. It was the strangest feeling. I opened my hand to find it still there, and this realization that the feeling of the stone had also blended into me. It was all that I needed to travel beyond the threshold of visibility.

Don't ask me how long I sat there after that. I have no idea. Don't ask me what I thought, or how I felt. I don't know. It didn't matter. As much as my senses were clearly in tune, they had turned inward and became a guide to visiting my own holy soulspace.

in and out
shallow light breathing
in and out
beyond awareness
beyond loneliness
beyond difficult complications.
I stayed there in a bubble of timelessness.
My senses thrilled by the radiant opening of beauty.

Eventually, a new breath rhythm caught in my throat, which triggered me to open my eyes. My first sense was one of refreshed restfulness. It was like I had slept for a four hours. I looked around and no one looked familiar. There was a man sitting beside me quietly praying. He was inches away from touching me and I had never felt his presence. The bright green sweater was so starkly illuminating, it almost startled me.... how could I have not felt his presence when he was sitting so close glowing in GREEN?

As much as I was refreshed, I was also a little discombobulated. I didn't know what to do next. I knew I didn't feel like entering into the crowds down below. I felt raw like I had been cleansed and scrubbed too much .... I was too shiny or something. After gathering my balance again, I walked towards the exit and saw a pile of stones carefully placed by the human beings who visited before me, creating a cairn. I knew I wanted to place my little piece of sandstone somewhere on it. So, I squatted down and looked over the growing sculpture. There was a much larger rock which had been broken in half and left halfway up standing like a precipice ledge. I placed my stone on the ledge ........... not at the bottom of the cairn, and not at the very top.... halfway up. Perfect for me.

I opened the exit door and stepped out a different atmosphere. The two women, my new friends had moved on. This saddened me because I wanted to thank them... to tell them how meaningful Soulspace had been for me too. I wanted to describe to them how it had "filled my boots..." I wanted to describe how alive and refreshed and alert I was feeling. I wanted to connect with two people who would intimately understand the transformational feelings I was stunned by. But they had moved on. It forced me to figure out what had just happened on my own. In retrospect, this was what needed to happen. As difficult as it seemed, my aloneness was an important component to how the day continued to unfold.

There was no one to share my experience with.... to talk it out so as to understand it more fully. I felt lonely but determined to find a bench out of the way of the flow of people to jot down my initial thoughts and feelings in my journal. It was important to try to capture this transformational experience.

What had been clearly evident as soon as I had opened my eyes is that much of what I had allowed to drop out of my fingertips cleared the way to making a few personal decisions. I had known for a long time I had let go of a few conflicts that I had allowed to hover for far too long. Some of what I had resolved surprised me completely. Given that I had no conscious plans or intentions to address these personal issues, they found me as I sat blended into the middle of the sound of the choir and the drumming.......

I walked away from Soulspace, quickly found a bench away from the crowded pathway and began scribbling like a crazy woman. Thoughts, feelings, phrases, names, little details that would come in handy where captured in a spreeeeeeee....... I filled two pages in a matter of minutes as I remained quiet and contained., unwilling to break open to the "real world." It was at that point when I heard my name out loud for the first time since early that morning. It pulled me right out of a deeply focused tunnel, from the same place where I go when I'm in the writing zone.

Hi Dana....
Someone who knew me......???

I looked up to see the smiling face of an angel named Alison whom I was just getting to know through the friends I had gone to Greenbelt to meet. I had driven to the Greenbelt site with her from the hotel that morning, which seemed like years before and I hadn't seen her since then. Her timing was impeccable, like she had arrived by the guiding Hand of God when I needed someone to ground me again.

From the outside I'm sure I appeared to be the same, though I did have my head down scribbling away on a bench in the middle of nowhere! She asked me how I was, how my day had gone. As soon as I tried to open my mouth, the rush of emotion flurried through me as I stunningly had a smiling meltdown trying to explain to her what I had just experienced. I'm sure I made her uncomfortable. I mean how does one handle the erupting emotions of a 40 something woman who has just experienced something personally profound? I burbled and stammered and tried my best to find the words to describe how beautiful it was to have experienced meditative prayer, but it was a stumbling attempt at something I knew I needed more time to churn through. Alison the angel did exactly what I needed. She gave me a hug. She sat with me until I pulled myself together. She let me spill out in all directions. Thank you beautiful Alison. Your unconditional kindness was a blessing.

We spoke for a short while, as I gathered myself up for the next event. I thanked her for being at the right place at the right time. We wished each other well knowing we would both be back at the hotel later that night sitting by the bar debriefing with the others. Off she went to capture the festival through the lens of her camera. Off I went to take in the much anticipated talk by Pete Rollins whom I had met informally the night before, who had left me intrigued! Turned out, he was another Irishman filled with magnetic brilliance that shone out of him in thought provoking irreverent reverence. But, that's another story I'll save for another post.

It's been four weeks since my visit to Soulspace and I'm still processing what happened and how it impacted me. Some were automatic changes. For example, the confidence I had lost while trying to cope while working in a toxic environment for so long finally returned. I no longer feel the residuals of that experience and I can see this clearly in the way I am approaching my job as a counsellor at the Community College and as an Instructor teaching an evening course at the University. I'm juggling both jobs right now along with another counselling gig and I'm completely in my element. The second guessing is gone. My wings are fully open, in flight.

I have reshuffled the focus on a few commitments in my life... some I've let go of, some I've recommited to. As well, for the past year I had a strong desire to pursue a new career with the vision of becoming a Minister. Strangely, this seemingly transformative experience which you'd think would've reinforced this move had the opposite effect. I realized I have no interest in working within the bureaucratic confines of any formal religion. I've had more than my share of clipped wing functioning. These decisions, recommitments, changes were revealed to me as soon as I "returned" from the meditation and opened my eyes. Who knew that was going to happen???? It's all a big whopping relief.

More than a couple of spooky moments followed the Soulspace experience. It's like serendipity has been placed on Speed! One after another, after another!! The latest one happened last night as I was in the middle of trying to find the words for this piece to describe the choir and the drumming sounds. A friend sent me a link to a Youtube video of some music he had described to me earlier in the day. Beautiful haunting music. I listened to it, enjoying the feelings it provoked in me, and the thoughts it generated. When I finished listening, I looked at the Youtube sidebar to see if there was another song I could listen to. and chose the top selection. All of a sudden, the music filled my room with familiarity. For, unbeknownst to my friend, he had indirectly sent me the choir song I had focused on while I sat in the room called Soulspace. All of a sudden, I was reunited with a piece of music that had moved me into the thinness of time where beauty illuminates..... where God dwells. SPOOKY!

Coincidences don't exist.....

I never again saw the two women I had originally met in a tent called Hebron at a talk on Empathy. In fact, I don't even remember their names. It was like we power touched one another, walked a few important steps together and then moved on. I may never see them again ... this is most likely but who knows? Wilder things have happened in this global village. But, the impact on this pilgrim astounds me still. I wish them well.......... and send out a cosmic kiss across the starry sky to wherever they live.

Soulspace..... it truly did lift my limited self toward a beautiful light and taught me how to breathe in a new and profound way.

ps..... here is the link to the beautiful music which I finally heard when I was able to silence the noise inside me....

religion and curiosity = religiosity?

Am I religious? What does that mean?

I don't attend church regularly. But I try to be attentive in the living of my life.

I stumble on the words of most prayers I should probably know off by heart. But I've learned that prayer is really the unfolding of our thoughts and actions as I try to be attentive in the living of my life.

I know the tunes of the more well known hymns sung during times of worship. But, I know have learned that there are many songs and pieces of music which are not found within the traditional scripts played out in church but touch the soul as deeply.

I was baptised as a young child and confirmed and welcomed into a church as an adolescent. But, I have wrestled with my doubts and disbeliefs, my personal dismissal of faith only to see it return in a different more flexible form.

There have been moments in my life when I have been lifted in spirit while listening to a choir, or absorbing the message and flow of a moving sermon. Tears have fallen watching the joy of two people going through the beautiful ritual of matrimony, or seeing a baby being baptised.

I have been touched deeply by sacremental communion.

Stopped in my tracks, I have felt the stillness of being surrounded by the tall pine dappled in morning sunlight.

I have watched storms rage, rains pelt, rainbows stretch across the sky and I have never grown tired of experiencing the glory of the sunrise and the satisfying beauty of a sunset.

I have paddled a canoe through all kinds of weather and floated with the currents.

I have given birth twice and held my new babies as they took their first breaths, speechless in the presence of a miracle.

So, is this religious? How would I define my religion?

To me, it is striving to live by.....

showing compassion

accepting others differences

being kind

being open to the caring healing of sharing in another's poverty and sorrow

affirming the goodness in another

remembering I am not better nor worse than anyone else

recognizing the pain and the joys in others

trying to offer the rest of humanity whatever gifts I can to help make this a better place to live.

Not ornate....nor simplistic. Humanistically driven, while knowing and accepting the "visible signs of an invisible reality" as one of God's children.

Am I religious? If believing in humanity and actively playing my role within the vastness of it is considered religious...than yes I am.

certainty

certainty.....

clings to the desirous stalking of a matinee matron

wraps around vapid preaching from the pulpits of prey

smothers healthy doubters

silences "what if" whisperers

douses the flame of a new idea

clamps down on temptation

tackles fools on hills

dampens the dance of destiny

fights for the podium to face the masses of firm believers.

no questioning

no enlightening

no thinking

intellectual pondering need not show up.

For God's sake don't use your brain!

certainty has NO time for absurdity

certainty has NO patience for the slow meandering pontificator

Certainty has no room for wasteful choking on undigested ruminants.

Swallow it whole....or go hungry.

And if this isn't how you want to view things,

may i introduce you to....

humility and doubt?

just don't let certainty know they're around

the minstrel

The Minstrel arrived unannounced into the valley with the first warm breeze of spring. Carrying his fiddle and his battered old leather bag strapped over his shoulder resting on his hip, he made his way to the sandy shoreline of the river to set up a respite camp. Quietly, he lifted his bag over his head and laid it against a log and went off to gather some firewood. It had been a while since he had eaten anything. His hunger made him cold. It bit into his loneliness which fortunately he rarely felt. But when it did slip under his skin, it wandered aimlessly until it found the dark ring in his soul. In moments like these, he longed for a warm place to call his own. But he knew himself well enough that his feet were made for wandering and his place he called his own were the wide open spaces. The ability to bring joy to others on his journey with his music kept the loneliness at bay most of the time.

In no time, a small cooking fire was established and his pot filled with soup given to him by a farmer's wife from the village up river was warming up. He took his other pot and scooped some river water to boil for tea. As he waited, he picked up his fiddle and began to play the quiet tune he savoured as a tribute to his true love. He never shared this one with anyone else. It was his prayer, his meditation he held close to his heart.

Soon the soup was hot and ready to eat and he set his fiddle off to the side. As he was digging in his leather bag in search of his spoon, two young boys, just on the cusp of manhood, had made their way down the path to the shoreline carrying offerings for the stranger. One was carrying homemade bread and the other was carrying more firewood. Like everyone in the village, they had watched the man set up his camp with keen suspicion. No one new had been through the village since the summer before.....the intrigue stirred their curiosity and piqued their interest. It was decided that they would represent the villagers, to welcome the stranger but also to find out who he was. The minstrel looked up at the two young men and smiled.

"Greetings to you," he said as he looked directly at them.

"Welcome to our village," the young brothers expressed. Have you travelled far?"

"I have travelled far and wide in my life, but today only from the next village. What are your names," the Minstrel asked.

"I'm Simon and this is my brother Andrew. We have brought you some bread to go with your soup and some more firewood."

"Thank you. My name is Joshua, and after I've finished my meal, I will play you a song if you'd like."

They nodded and smiled and sat down on the log beside the Minstrel, and began asking him many questions about his travels. It was such a different life, so foreign to them but it stirred a secret lust for adventure neither had ever shared with each other. As the fresh bread and soup restored his energy and the sweet tea warmed him up, the Minstrel became more animated and more descriptive.

Simon and Andrew were pulled right into the grand stories as they fed the fire with more and more sticks until it was blazing and snapping sparks high up into the sky. It was a spectacular blaze which threw off heat and seemed to melt away the inhibitions of winter's damp thaw. Pretty soon, their own closely held stories and yearnings were shared with their new friend and Joshua was intrigued to by their engaging ability to express themselves. He could feel Simon and Andrew's desire to learn the life of a wanderer and wondered if he had finally found the two he could mentor. It was a fleeting thought as he listened to their youthful exuberance and knew they were too young yet to take to the road to learn life as it unfolds. Maybe one day.... It was nice to feel a sense of brotherhood with his two new acquaintances and it left him feeling hopeful that perhaps his own stories would be passed on after he was unable to do so.

As twilight beckoned, the Minstrel grabbed his fiddle, stood up beside the bonfire and began to play lively tunes that swirled in the engaging smoke, captured and broadcasted beyond the shoreline. He could feel himself move into a place where the music poured out of him like he was the vessel passing on ancient hymns. They came from some place holy and whole, and he loved visiting there. Pretty soon, the villagers, who had been watching the scene unfold had grabbed their coats and headed down to the shoreline to join the three in an impromptu celebration of all things good.

It was the tonic they yearned for in the dead of winter when fatigue made their arms too heavy to wipe away those burdensome blues. Smiles all around as the music began to touch their cloaked spirits. For a moment in time, the sacred truth of their unmet dreams was replaced with a fullness of time, brushed by a tenderness only felt in the gathering of ancestry. Eternity seemed possible to hold in the palm of your hand.

Simon and Andrew remained captivated by this man named Joshua whose magical gifts enlightened the villagers by resurrecting their light heartedness again. Secretly they longed to sneak off and join him but they knew the timing wasn't quite right. Maybe, they thought....maybe one day he will become their teacher. But, it wasn't the time to be contemplating beyond the grand sense of life affirmed happening in a circle around the fire. The Minstrel played on....sometimes he stopped and told a story about love and forgiveness.....sometimes he changed the tempo and played a lament that seemed soaked in the rain of tears usually lost in the faraway eyes of longing. And then before the mood altered permanently, Joshua would strike his bow with a high step piece and everyone would return to comraderie and lightness. The brothers felt a sense of freedom in their spirits like they had never felt before....it was a revelation to them.

Night grew darker.......and the folks in the village began to leave one by one until the Minstrel, Simon and Andrew were the only ones left. Up the hill from the shoreline, the windows in the homes began to light up with the soft glow of lanterns. Woodsmoke curled up from the chimneys. It looked so beautiful and it warmed Joshua's heart to know that everyone in the village were safely inside and on their way to possibly finding a more restful sleep than before. He too was tired. It had been a long day and he needed to seek refuge in his own slumber. One of the villagers offered a place by their woodstove and he planned to take them up on it after he packed up his bag and fiddle and doused the fire.

Simon and Andrew had stayed behind to ask the Minstrel if they could go with him the next day....if they could learn how to be minstrels......but before they could find the words, Joshua looked up at them and smiled.

"One day," he said. "One day, I will come for you............when the time is right. I will teach you my stories, and help you with the hymns....I will offer you my knowledge and give you my blessing to carry you forward on my behalf. When the time is right. For now, help your village to continue to show love .....to be there for one another. Learn from your elders, and be kind to each other. You are more lucky than you know to have a brother to cherish and to share your dreams with. I hope you will always remain the best of friends. So, for now....I wish you a fond goodnight. I promise I will come for you when time is ready."

With that, the Minstrel walked up the path to the house on the hill where he would rest for the night. Tomorrow, a new village.......and a chance to bring peace and love through his stories and his music. It is what he does....it is why he is who he is.....a holy troubadour named Joshua.

salt to remember me by.....

Waves.

The first time we ventured to Prince Edward Island my daughter Martha was a toddler. I held her in my arms and waded out to my hips into the choppy water and waited for the waves to roll in. They didn't disappoint as they merged into a forceful mound before they broke into an exhilarating cascading fall....splashing, soaking, surprising us as they pushed on by to the shore. Our laughter filled the sky. "Bring it on," we cried! "More!"

The next year, her legs and body were sturdy enough to wade in holding our hands. Once again the waves rolled on one at a time leaving us tasting the salt, leaving it's glistening charm on our skin. The stronger ones bowled us over and under for a few moments, our hands still holding on together. Our laughter burst out in a feeling of freedom, up over the surf. "Bring it on," we cried! "More!"

By the end of the second visit, there were times when we sat close to the shore. Knowing her Mom and Dad were close by my daughter waded into her dimply knees and waited for the waves. They didn't disappoint. In they rolled in an undulating pattern, merging just before they crested and fell into one another with their churning bubbles, pushing onto the shoreline. I watched my daughter watch the waves. As soon as she could see them forming the crest, her arms SHOT up into the air in gleeful defiance......her body shouting "Bring it on!" Her laughter was so resoundingly joyful it brought us to laughter. "More!"

Waves. We love them, anticipate them, yearn for them. They wake us up with their stimulating grandeur. A slapsplash of a wave seems to heighten all of our senses. They make us cry out for more! But they can be tiring too. After a stint in the water battling the waves, its always so wonderful to lay your towel down on the sunbaked sand and collapse while summer's rays warm you and fill you with energy again.

We need both. Too many waves, and your legs begin to buckle from fatigue. Too much sunbaking and the energy you've acquired from the sun turns on itself and makes you sleepy. It zaps you of the strength needed to brace yourself for the turning of the tide. Rarely do we ever find the perfect balance in our lives. Rarely can we ever anticipate the waves in our lives as we can along the shoreline.

During the times when we are inundated with them, one after another to a point when the BRING IT ON turns into a cry for NO MORE.......? The moments of calm become as precious as finding a piece of smooth blue glass offered up from the tide. The moments of calm become like harbouring alcoves where the wind and the waves leave faint echos. The moments of calm become the benchmark memory, when you can begin to take deep breaths in again knowing you can exhale in peace.

I look back on a year of waves.........some welcoming, some rogue-like.......tiring, challenging, stretching.......some which made me laugh up into the sky and some which knocked me down leaving me without enough air in my lungs. I always got back up......and sometimes needed help from someone to learn to put my arms defiantly in the air again, to find my voice......salty tears, salty waves.....a glistening body covered in remembrance. What stands out this morning as I write and reflect on the year that was 2008 are the little alcoves of calm.....and one in particular shines on in my heart more than any other.

I spent an afternoon in the silence of a cathedral. Leaving the roar of the waves outside the welcoming door, I found myself still jittery and bruised as I entered into a place of faint echos. I could hear my own footsteps as I walked slowly. I looked up and around in awe of the mastery and listened to the collective hymns captured in the pillars and dome. I could hear the whispering prayers caught in the thinness of inspiration….and it calmly rolled over me as I explored the little altar alcoves. Candlelight blended with the blue glass light, I sat, I knelt….I let my own prayers filter into the thin air.

Silence. It felt like I had the whole cathedral to myself. But, I wasn’t alone that day. I was with two people who were helping me find my outstretched arms again….two beautiful human beings who were taking their own path through the ancestry of faith. I could feel their presence, never too far away.

Time slipped by. In fact I had lost track of it. Time left me alone, a pilgrim soaking in the reverence, speaking not one word out loud. Talking to God.

I found myself standing at the top of the stone steps next to the main altar admiring the arches and domes, the light cascading, reflecting shadows into the deep folds. I looked down to see one person sitting alone in the front row of the pews. His hands were clasped, quietly sitting on his lap. His eyes were closed. I was pulled down the steps and placed right beside him. My calm met his calm. We spoke in whispers when we spoke at all. Mostly, we enjoyed the faint echos in our own alcove, humbled by the strength of the beauty of Canterbury Cathedral. My inner calm return.

I have thought of this quiet time with my friend many times since, especially when the waves sent me reeling again. And every time I picture the two of us sitting close in silence looking up at an altar which defies descriptive words , I feel like I’ve been touched by an eternal beacon of light…..one offered to me by a person I feel like I’ve known for MORE than a fortnight….a friend I had met through the magic of blogging. My strength returns. My arms reach up into the air. And I can hear my voice sing out in happiness….BRING it ON!


So as we say so long to a year of learning, stretching, growing…..a year of undulating waves, glorious experiences, strengthening friendships….as we reflect on a year which tested our mettle, but also gave us more insight into ourselves and others, may we take the time to recognize our moments of grace and light when we find we hold in our hands a piece or two of blue glass brought in by the tides.

Happy New Year from me to you. 2009? Bring it on!!

Jean Vanier, a builder of hope and light.....

He has lived most of his adult life in France, but he has been chosen as Canada's "Nation Builder" by the Globe and Mail. No one else fits the bill quite like this gentle, humble holy man. Jean Vanier's calling and how he has chosen to live it....quietly and with very little fanfare is truly inspirational. The founder of the international L'Arche communities, Vanier's lifework has altered the very way we understand and treat people with severe disabilities. His written body of work reaps in his thoughts and beliefs allowing someone like me to learn from him. Jean Vanier has much to teach our world. If you were to ask me who I would like to meet the most, to have a chance to sit down for a cup of tea with, it would be Jean Vanier. My admiration holds no boundaries for this man.

When I first heard of the L'Arche community and the philosophy behind it, I was in my early twenties embarking on a new job at a rehabilitiation centre in Toronto. It was my responsibility to create and run a "sensory stimulation" program for children and teens who were multiply handicapped. These kids, many of whom had never been involved in any structured programming designed specifically for them because of their severe limitations, and tragically our own limitations in seeing the need. They became my kids every night of the week as we explored a new world of colour, light, tastes, touch, music, movement, interaction and friendship. I loved the job. It was a challenging open ended discovery.......a perfect place for me to thrive. Still is. :)

The field of sensory stimulation and sensory integration was very new in the early 80's.....the concepts just starting to be understood, so I found myself creating as I went along. I relied mostly on the feeling of comfort I had working with children who were considered by many as cast-offs.......who actually frightened most people because there seemed to be no recognition or bonding ability. Many of these children lived in institutions or were living with families who were taxed emotionally, physically and spiritually to the max because of the lack of support in their communities or from extended families. The severity of the disabilities these children lived with meant that they required 24 hour care and supervision.

Many were at the rehab centre for wheelchair fitting, feeding and/or communication assessments or post-op care. Some of these children would arrive from acute care Children's hospitals after experiencing traumatic head injuries from accidents and were now ready for healing and rehabilitation. These kids, often still in a layer of coma but re-emerging and becoming more and more alert would begin with me in the sensory program before moving onto another recreational level later on in their healing. It was like watching a uniquely changed flower rebloom. For whatever reason, my intuition and comfort level allowed me a window into their individual worlds. Though it consumed me at the time, and I had a very tough time leaving their beautiful faces behind when I went home at night, I grew more as an individual than in any other setting I even grasped at the time.

For some reason I saw these children in a different way.....and felt a sense of bonding. I never knew how or why and for the most part while I worked there, I struggled with understanding this part of me. It wasn't until years later when I finally sat down and read the words of Jean Vanier and Henri Nouwen that I could see how connected it was to my spirituality. At the time, I questioned God, wrapping myself in the very idea that there was a God out there who would allow such pain and suffering to wrapped up in a child. I constantly asked why God created a place where babies were born with such disabilities and deformities. I wondered if it was an omen.....would I be given a baby of my own who was sick and frail and in need of constant care? Learning of the L'Arche communities then was salve to my own confusion, though I still dismissed the very idea of believing in God or at least believing in a God who could be so callous.

Reading Vanier's words, tied to the very concept of caring for the most vulnerable, of living as equals, helping one another, learning from each and every person we meet, offered me a missing link in my own awareness. It has somehow helped me make some sense of a senseless world. I guess it was my own "sensory" integration. Vanier's core religious beliefs, which have guided him and anchored him throughout his own journey resonate so deeply inside my own reflections. I'm not alone.....he has touched the hearts and souls of many. His persistant faith opened a door to recognizing my own, and most definately helped me believe in God again.....a God who loves.

"We have a strange notion of God," he writes
"It is linked, I think to our fundamental sense of guilt,
a God who condemns and punishes,
a God who just wants to take away what we love,
a God who demands sacrifices.
But that is not God.
God is Love.
God is Mercy.
God loves each one of us and knows who we are.
God is never disappointed in us.
God knows our basic fears, our fear of not being loved...
even our fear of being loved.

God loves us just as we are
and wants to reveal how deeply he respects us.
During one of our community weekends in northern France,
an assistant asked Frank, a man with disabilities
if he prayed.
He answered, 'yes.'
"What do you do when you pray Frank?"
"I listen."
"What does God say to you?"
"God says to me, 'You are my beloved son," he replied
That is what we discover in prayer:
we are a beloved son, a beloved daughter, of God.

God wants us to be united to us,
to reveal his presence to us.....
God's presence is also just as real
within our weakness and our poverty too."

Our Nation Builder of the Year..... A precious gift to us all. May we all embrace this gentle human being's beliefs, recognizing the most vulnerable who are tucked inside our own frailties.

Here is a link to the news story on his award. It gives an overview of the man himself and describes a bit of the L'Arche community and philosophy.




ps. Greenbelt bound perhaps? I wonder if that is a possiblity? :)

the football match

Jesus Christ had never been to a football match. So we took him to one, my friends and I. It was a ferocious battle between the Protestant Punchers and the Catholic Crusaders.

The Crusaders scored first. Jesus cheered wildly and threw his hat high up in the air. Then, the Punchers scored. And Jesus cheered wildly and threw his hat high up in the air.

This seemed to puzzle the man behind us. He tapped Jesus on the shoulder and asked, "Which side are you rooting for, my good man?"

"Me?" replied Jesus, visibly excited by the game. "Oh, I'm not rooting for either side. I'm just enjoying the game."

The questioner turned to his neighbour and sneered, "Hmmm, an atheist!"

After the game, we asked him if he was in the habit of never taking sides. "I side with people rather than religions," said Jesus, "I'm always more interested in the human beings rather than Sabbath."

taken from The Song of the Bird by Anthony de Mello.

Jesus may not pick sides in football, but everyone knows that when it comes to hockey, he's a raving Toronto Maple Leafs fan. Go Leafs!

softening to the suffering

For faith is not the clinging to a shrine but an endless pilgrimage of the heart. Audacious longing, burning songs, daring thoughts, an impulse overwhelming the heart, usurping the mind -- these are all a drive towards serving Him who rings our hearts like a bell.

It is as if He were waiting to enter our empty perishing lives. To rely on our faith would be idol worship. We have only the right to rely on God. Faith is not an insurance, but a constant effort, constant listening to the eternal voice. Abraham Heschel.


My own thoughts? Perhaps we do feel His presence when we feel a sense of emptiness......when we recognize in ourselves the need to let go of the reins of control. This is a constant when one lives in a marginalized state of mind and soul. It zaps us of energy and spirit when trying to do it alone...........when we continue to grapple for answers and sustenance to no avail....... like a lost thirsty soul in the desert....like trying paddle upriver against the wind.

There comes a point when one's clenched hands, open and turn outward in a gesture for help. There comes a time when meditative silence is the only alternative after avoiding it like it was the enemy.

I wonder ....... it seems like we need to RISK stripping down to the bare bonedness, down to the core essentials of who we are and what matters before we can, on our knees look up and see His presence, to feel His radiance. Because............it is only then that He can see and feel us too. If we risk opening up the part of us that rarely see any light, perhaps we find our listening ears that may hear the eternal voice?

WE cover ourselves, body and soul with a lanolin that repels the divine touch. Why is that? Does our fear of feeling such transparent vulnerability, of feeling a light headed weakness come from not being able to fully trust that its alright to present our own messy selves?

Nothing permeates our holy core until we dip ourselves in a clarity which then wipes away the noisy life residue............our cravings to be loved, to be accepted, to be assured, to be fed can only be addressed if we are on the verge of perishing in the wilderness. This is when we stop clinging to comfort and learn how to walk on.......

it has been spoken......

"He's gonna cover us up with leaves

With a blanket from the moon

With a promise and a vow

And a lullaby for my brow"

I sought out the soft dappling light and felt the cool evening August breeze tonight alone on a quiet road. As I walked up into the pasture covered in tall grass and white wildflower blossoms I wondered about the word Amen.... the last breath of prayer, and perhaps the last word spoken at the end of a day. It is our accepted way of expressing the serenity of surrendering to a Higher Power after we have offered up our honest attempt to share our innermost reflections. I wondered how often others have stopped to think about its meaning and its purpose.......

Amen.

Let it be.

When we express ourselves through prayer, amen affirms our expressions. How often do we say a prayer, one that perhaps we have used over and over again and we forget to clear away the debris so as to feel the meaning and the essence of the words right in the moment? Routine words lose their oooomph if they are swallowed and transformed into a rote disconnected mantra. Amen doesn't hold much substance in those moments. There's such a different feel to letting the word slip through our lips without a pause of acknowledgement.

Amen

So be it.

Tonight, I didn't say a prayer I had memorized. Rather, I said Amen during and after the quiet contemplation of taking a walk alone on a road that was lit up by a gorgeous everchanging twilight sky. The landscape and skyline tonight was my prayer. I just had to walk into it and and let it pull me into its beauty. As Tom Waits sings, it was a lullaby for my brow.

Amen to that.

Amen.

Lambeth discourse.

While feasting on abundance,

they banter and bray in serious postering tones

of the evils of gay marriage,

of the mind altering idea of ordaining women,

of the horrors of sexuality,

• More than 30 per cent of children in developing countries – about 600 million – live on less than US $1 a day.
• Every 3.6 seconds one person dies of starvation. Usually it is a child under the age of 5.
• Around 270 million children, just over 14 per cent of all children in developing countries, have no access to health care services.
• Some 13 per cent of children ages 7 to 18 years in developing countries have never attended school. This rate is 32 per cent among girls in sub-Saharan Africa (27 per cent of boys) and 33 per cent of rural children in the Middle East and North Africa.
• Over 1 billion people—1 in 6 people around the world—live in extreme poverty, defined as living on less than $1 a day.
• More than 800 million go hungry each day.

The earth continues to spin on an axis of hunger, poverty, violence...... while the dudes in robes, who study the Good Word focus on what they think matters. There are some who spend their days talking the talk, and others who spend their days walking their talk. Actions speak louder than shallow prayers and misguided hymns. Prioritizing and putting human beings first doesn't seem to be a prerequisite in the minds of the Lambeth delegates.

Is there something wrong with this picture. I am so tired of academically enhanced discourse which continues to overwhelm the realities we should be focusing on. Ivory tower philosophies don't feed the hungry, don't vaccinate the children, don't provide blankets to the homeless. Hell, ivory tower talking doesnt help to soothe the weeping of the forgotten. Effective guidance and leadership works within the Body of Christ where we all dwell equally. Effective leadership is harboured within messiness of living.

Can we just get someone in the lead to make a decision and move on to deal with the more important, life and death crises than whether or not two guys can marry? Let them marry for goodness sake.......throw the confetti, turn on the macerana, have a party in the church hall. And when the hangover of a good celebration goes away..........get out there and ACT.

i know you are, but what am i?

Religion, politics and outside criticism about your own family....... topics which should always come with a warning label when pulling them out of the ashes of decorum. It blows my mind how someone can passionately describe their opinions with one side of their brain while using the other side to slam the receiver's beliefs.

This is the case in political discourse. We see and hear it all the time. Where is the respect? Why have we allowed editorials, media coverage, and talking heads brandish such mean reporting? Why do we get a rise out of hearing such vicious attacks on other people, particularly the ones who are doing their best to make a difference in the world by stepping out from of the rest of us passive couch sitting fray? Has it always been nasty? It's been nasty for a while I realize, but has it always been that way?

And how has this impacted the discourse we have with one another over these topics? Is there a feeling that it's just fine thank you very much to belch out your own opinion in a manner which can only be best described as a total disregard for the feelings of others, even your friends? Has the media and the way of reporting...............has the dialogue heard on TV shows and in movies impacted the value of being polite?

We all have a bully in us. WE all know how to fight dirty. We all know that there are certain topics we need to be careful when discussing them with the people in our lives. We can be rude it we want to and even pretend that we didn't mean it.


oooops..............i wasn't thinking............


I don't buy it.......... and I can't tolerate it. It makes me angry and defensive. When I hear this or read this, especially if it somehow touches me personally, I have a tough time shaking it off because I try to be accomodating of others. If my feelings and beliefs are not accomodated the same way, it riles me and I will walk away.


I love a good debate........... what i don't love is when it gets personal and dirty. Personalized mudslinging to me is the dumbing down of debate.......it is an easy push at another person's buttons. It's a complete turn off to me. Give me a well written article on an issue I may even have a completely different perspective on, and I will read it with respect........and who knows, may even change my thinking. But, give me an article that just slams the opposite opinion with big swipes of personal badmouthing and you've lost me.

There's so much rudeness and meanness in this world. We don't need to fuel this fire. Instead, we need to move out from under that EGO umbrella and into a place where essence and spirit rein.

Either that, or we need to keep some of our opinions to ourselves.



Or, I have to develop a thicker skin.........

Review, Renew, Remind......Reflect.

I have taken a step back to review. It's what feels right on the last day of the year.....in fact I have a tough time even contemplating ringing in another year without a chance to reflect on what has passed by, and what I had a chance to grab onto before the wind took it down river.

The writing shared on my blog, the beautiful quotes I have found along the way, my own musings and ALL of the wonderful insights, feedback, thoughts and feelings left in the comment section by you has fed me like a Sunday brunch buffet. Rereading the posts and comments of this past year has stirred up new ideas, as well as the desire to expand on some of the same themes. Learning is that way isn't it? Learning is like a daisy chain, all interconnected, lovely and potentially never ending. Or perhaps learning is more of a multi-coloured, multi-layered tablet of construction paper waiting for creativity to do it's magic. However one wants to look at it, we are always adding to or using previous learning as a hitching post.



We seem to have covered a lot of ground this year. And yet, I'm left with the thought that we only ever show and see glimpses of one another. It makes me wonder if we ever really know another person.......if we ever really have the opportunity to truly know ourselves as deeply as we can. Like winter, our whole story doesn't show. Some of who we are is buried under the snow.....laying dormant, not dead.........just dormant. Some of who we are is waiting to be discovered.



I have found many gems tucked in the comments that people have taken the time to leave. Amazing little gems......of self disclosure, of feelings, even of quotes which resonated with them in a meaningful way.......to be shared. The interactions played out through blogging is what makes me return to the buffet table time and again. When I try to explain to someone outside of this medium looking in, it feels like an ongoing discussion found in a university classroom. I feel like I am taking the best course I have ever taken..........self-initiated, self-directed and yet interconnected and interdependent on the generosity of others who regularly or intermitedly pop into the same venue. It seems like a safe place to try out new ideas, new concepts......new ways of expressing an old concept. It is a place where one can dig a little deeper under the snow to add nutrients and warmth to a dormant side of oneself.



A dear friend whom I have met through this medium shared his feelings about knowledge and wisdom. He wrote that "perhaps wisdom begins with fear............that a healthy scare of imperfection ain't such a bad thing. " As always, his comment when he left it made me think and it continues to make me think.......



Perhaps we are sometimes too afraid of looking in the cracked mirror where our imperfections glare back at us that stops us from wanting to see anything beyond the superficial glimpses. Too scary and too ugly? Too messy under the snow.........? And yet, isn't it worth recognizing imperfection because of what lays behind it? Isn't that where pure beauty is found in all it's formations?



There are bright yellow crocuses laying dormant under that snow.



There is pure beauty in our enlightenment, especially if it is shared. How I learn and what I learn is by sharing it with others. I can keep my ruminations to myself and allow them to accumulate silently, or I can take a chance to elaborate on them, messy and ugly as they may be in order to see them from a different angle..........and in order to receive feedback and reinforcing encouragement.........in order to figure it out.





I feel a bit satiated right now......and a wee bit stunned by some of the pieces I had written and forgotten about. Not the lessons.......or the topics..........just that somewhere along the line I had found the words (or the words found me more like it) to express it. Thoughts and ideas were definately generated by what I have read on other's blogs, and by the comments left on my own. Rereading them has reinforced my belief in the interconnectedness and interdependence of community........and how important that is.



So, I thank you for feeding me with colourful threads of ideas to stitch into my imagination.



The words I managed to capture? They are a gift.........and I am the vessel, as they continue to pour out at an alarming rate! Over the course of the year, I have tried to recite prayers which I found comfortable with as a way to step a little closer to God. I thought that maybe if I knew the words more succinctly.........off by heart..........that maybe I would feel the power of prayer which I read about. It would become a meditation through which I can connect to a Higher Power. I will continue to pursue this........seeking out the right prayer, the one that fits. But, the more I think about it, the more I realize that writing is my prayer to God. Writing is my prayer shawl. It is where I seem to be able to share a more vulnerable side of who I am. It is where I find my purpose and focus. It is where I feel He meets with me and offers the cracked mirror which reflect back to me a healthy scare of imperfections. And you know what? It sure ain't a bad thing now is it Mr. Harbour?



Happy New Year. May our worlds collide, coincide, and interconnect throughout 2008. I look foward to where the journey will lead.