Love is a direction

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

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

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

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

brokenness

loneliness

fear

sorrow

guilt

shame

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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


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

Easter morning

"Peace I leave with you; My peace I give you, 
Do not let your heart be troubled and do not be afraid......." 

So often it slips by unnoticed.  Those who know its medicinal magic seek it out. Cradled in the lonely remnants of the dark night where sorrow hovers like an ancient dream too complicated to comprehend, a blushing thinness appears over the sleeping hills. 

Just when you thought hope had been smothered by the lingering heaviness of standstill time, when your soul is clenched to ward off despair, it winks a deep pink so enticing you can't help but be pulled into its promise. A feast for your eyes. Salve for the spirit. At the very same moment when the pink blush smiles into a broader swath of tangerine and touches the darkness all around turning it into a tangled blue, a choir of birds sing out..... a welcoming invitation to sit in the rising passion of a new dawn. 

If only it could last forever, this moment of peace and hope.  I am held captive by a living snapshot.  Would  I grow tired of its beauty?  Would the hope I feel lessen in strength?  Perhaps, because like life, hope never remains still.   Its very nature carries us forward in its inspiration as it eases us into transitional changes.

We are kissed by the joy of a sunrise and rejoice in its loveliness. Its softening warmth is sweeter when we have waited on the wings where lonely echos gather. Let it's refreshing promise lift you up into its arms and carry you to a place where your gaze becomes beautiful again.  There is strength in the air we breathe.
 

The sun RISES on this inspiring morning while I sit in the quiet of my home with You holding my hand and give thanks. Thank you for the blessings all around me.  Thank you for the blessings I feel inside me on this beautiful, beautiful morning.

Happy Easter.
Let the miracle of the day bathe you in comfort.  I will allow it to do the same for me.

the serenity of hope.

Sometimes hope is as impossible to grasp as trying "to catch the wind" as Donovan so beautifully composed in the 60's. His yearning to find solace through love encapsulates our own attempts to seek hope outside of ourselves. We have a tendancy to mesh these two together, or at least I do. Hope and love.........being loved fills us with hope. And so we go off in search of it.

love, love, love........hope, hope, hope......

There's a classic line from a movie which was spoken in angst with a strong Bronx accent by Harvey Fierstein......."I wanna be loved. Is that so wrong?" I don't know why it has always stuck in my head, and for the life of me, I can't even remember the movie if was from. But, the line was expressed in a way that made you laugh and feel eye widening compassion for his character at the same time if that's possible. I think we all can relate.

There are times in our lives when we feel terribly unloved and it's a crushing feeling. It has to be one of the loneliest sensations we can experience. It usually happens when we have done something we are ashamed or simply don't want to face, or when we are trapped in a maze of being misunderstood and dismissed by the people who matter in our lives. When the feeling washes over, it seems to strip you of hope too because it feels like the dark side of eternity.

As much as we may feel like the life raft needed to stay afloat is not within arms reach, as much as we sometimes feel like our arms are just too tired to tread water any longer while searching for that seemingly unreachable reassurance, as much as we don't know how we are going to cope with the onslaught of waves rolling in the windy tide because the strength in our hearts has been zapped of usefulness, we survive. There is an innate drive which can push us beyond what we perceive to be our limit. But, it doesn't come from trying to find it outside of ourselves. Hope and love are nestled in the remnants of our life experiences. I truly believe that. We have many external triggers which most definately surprise us with that uplifting sensation and these matter because they remind us that hope reawakens in every breath we take. It is in the spirit of life. And if you look at it that way, we do have the ability to catch the wind.

Today is a celebration of capturing the wind and transforming it into our breath of life. It's like we have been given a whole new fresh bunch of air to fill our bodies with a sense of being reborn. And by just simply taking one breath at a time, we can regenerate our empty vessels with the necessary ingredients to begin anew. We can't see it or hold it.........just like hope and love, but we can breathe it into us every time we fill ourselves with fresh oxygen.

How miraculous is that? It doesn't matter who we are, or what we are coping with........it doesn't matter what colour our skin is, how disconnected we are with our own communities.....it doesn't matter what we look like, or how old we are, and it surely doesn't matter whether we attend a formal church service, or whether we seek out the meaning of life going down a different path, we are all given the same gifts to quiet our hearts. WE are offered the serenity of hope, one breath at a time. We are loved. It's in the wind around us and in us. That's not so wrong.

Happy Easter.

morning thoughts.......

Last night my husband and I attended a Good Friday Concert at the Wilmot United Church. I expected it to be very sad, but in fact I found it uplifting in so many ways. The concert included a chamber orchestra and a choir along with guest Soprano and Bass performers. They played/sung a variety of pieces from Bach, Handel and Mendelssohn, and then performed the Faure Requiem. Most of the music I recognized and enjoyed. I've included the piece I loved the most.

As I was listening, I took in the visual beauty of Wilmot church. Its one of my favourite places of worship..........it's so uniquely painted inside with colours that have the same flavour as one you would see in Europe, particularly the Alps. It's hard to explain...........I will have to take pictures of it one day.

I was also intrigued by a little one who was attending with his Dad and his Grandparents, and sitting across the small aisle from me. I have a feeling that his Mom was performing. He was an absolutely adorable toddler, around 24 months old, and so well behaved, especially at the time of night. When the concert began, I looked over and he was sitting on his father's lap taking it all in. In fact, he was just the right size to fit in the "L shape"........his head touching his Dad's chin, and his feet reaching his Dad's knees. All snuggled in........... And I was whooshed by the remembrance of when my kids were small enough to fit perfectly like that.

He wiggled a bit, but never ever made a fuss while he tried to find the right position to fall asleep to the music. And all the while, his Dad hugged him and rocked him with such gentle love that always sends just the right message to a little one.......you are safe, you are loved. His wriggling never was an issue for either his Dad nor his Grandparents........every now and then a book or a small toy would appear to refocus him. Meanwhile NOT a peep, except when the music had concluded between pieces.

I watched him mostly out of the corner of my eye...... He brought LIFE into a Requiem concert. This little being lifted up all who were watching him from the corner of their eyes. At the end of the two hour concert, I leaned over to him and gave him a finger puppet of a chick I had in my purse (don't all good bloggers have finger puppets in their purses??)and stuck it on his pointer finger...... The look on his chubby little face was priceless. A big smile formed behind that soother he was sucking on! And I thought...........wait til Easter morning kiddo, you've seen nothing yet.......

His first real Easter egg hunt.....dont you want to be there to watch his joy erupt as he runs around his own house finding treats?

Today, I have 18 (including my family) coming for dinner...........which includes 10 "bunnies" of all ages. We have a surprise for them too. Guitar Hero has arrived at our house! I have a feeling we'll be rocking it out Nugent style tonight!! A weeeee bit different than the concert last night.......

jesu joy of man's desiring.......

This was one of the pieces played last night. Enjoy.........

Good Friday

Today is the saddest day in the Christian calendar and in three days, we will be celebrating the gladdest day. It is where sorrow meets joy, where pain meets blissful healing. Compassion, which is derived from the term "suffering with" is the empathic bridge to balancing the paradoxical feelings which impact our thoughts as we try to understand the layers of meaning behind the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ. It is compassion which allows us to envision in our hearts that His sacrifice, painful and bloody almost beyond comprehension, was out of love and forgiveness.

Grief and sorrow provides the gift of love and forgiveness......

We all suffer.............as Dostoevsky stated......"to live is to suffer........" I don't believe we could ever grasp the purity of gladness without the true understanding of suffering. We wouldn't know if we had nothing to compare it to would we? This weekend, we are offered the clearest connection to this life realization all within a couple of days. Not only that, we are offered a chance to recognize the gift of life, to speak the word of gratitude and to hopefully take the next step in our personal journeys towards a life filled with acts of love and kindness.

I can't help but perseverate today over the many many suffering spots in this world, where poverty, violence, oppression and killings are a way of life for millions of human beings. I read a diary post of a missionary living in Malawi this morning which touched me deeply. I listened on the radio to a man who lost his whole family in the killings in Rwanda, and how he has reclaimed his life and his joy piece by piece while living here in Canada. And I watched some of the secretly taped videos that have slipped out of Tibet, listened to the journalists describe the situation in the small villages which have never erupted in anger before. I watched the Dalai Lama as he spoke out against the violence by threatening to resign. There is such suffering in oppression.

Good Friday may be a Christian holy day, but today it feels as though it embraces the multi-hues of faith, and the many human beings who are on the hurting side of grief and sorrow.

And the only thing I can think to do is pray. I wish I knew how.