it's been too long......

"The Mystery never leaves you alone.
Behind your image,
below your words,
above your thoughts,
the silence of another world waits.
A world lives within you."
John O'Donohue

Hi.  It's been way too long.  How have you been?  

I've been out in the world looking around, absorbing landscapes, seascapes, peoplescapes.  I've also spent quite a bit of time visiting a very different world inside me...... different than the one I can see with my outside eyes.... very different than the one I saw this time last year with my inside eyes.  

For the first time in 6 years, none of my sauntering sojourn was captured in words published on this blog.  My writing flow slowed right down to leaky faucet drops. I have about 50 half written pieces sitting in my blog drafts.  I'd make attempts to turn on the tap, but the well seemed to dry out very quickly.  At first it stunned me.... made me jittery uncomfortable.  Alone.  Afraid that writing was just a phase. 

Settling into that comfort zone where the pictures and prose magically danced inside my head no longer was an option I could turn to.  It felt like I had said all that I wanted to......... all I needed to and that anything more was just going to be a repeat.  Topics would float happily through my thought process and dance their way right down the drain along with my attention.  Along with my interest.  It was a mystery.  Until one day........ my inner voice nudged me into another direction.  The fear of never writing again left me once I listened to that voice..... and followed it's advice.

I began to revisit the pieces I had posted here over the course of the past two years.  It was time.  Time to assess it, absorb it, criticize it, enjoy it.  It was time to read rather than write. My energy had altered. I began peering into the world within captured during a time in my life comparable to a field of fireworks unpredictably exploding in a multitude of loud bangs, streams of teary sparklights tumbling down and bright flashes of expressive colour!  

Healing, taking risks, learning to cope while growing as "a work in progress" human being, along with the sunrise of new perspectives were the gifts that fed my courage to look at what I had created. The place "behind your image, below your words...." is where truthfulness of revealed reflections dwells.  You can't "go there" until you're ready. 

It was so interesting when the little bell tingled to inform me that for some reason I WAS ready to tackle the review because it felt like it had come out of the blue.  I began by culling through the myriad of posts, turning them into documents so I could have a printed copy in my hands.  Without a true plan in place, I started filtering through the pieces, wondering where these written words of mine would take me and where the heck they all came from!!! 

At the same time, also out of the blue, I was offered a little cottage to use at my leisure.  I couldn't believe it!  For a year or so, I've been openly expressing that I would love to have a place to go that was quiet to write without interuptions or responsibilities.  When the offer came from a new friend I have met this past year through attending church and getting involved in some community work,  I knew instantly that this unbelievable gift was no coincidence.  It was a prayer answered.  I'm convinced of it.  And so, my reading began on a porch that overlooked a wild grassy field and  the mouth of a beautiful river in the silence I had longed for.   

Cricket silence.  Yes.

After the sun set with spectacular glory, I continued to sit until the stars gathered and the fireflies glitter-danced just above the darkened field.  It was then that the poetic pictures in my head returned.  It was then that a thematic structure appeared to me that my separate writing pieces could naturally fall into a collective meaning.  I had the found the golden thread to weave with.  

To everything there is a season.........

Many of the pieces that I think are worth tweaking and sculpting were much more revealing and personally raw than I realized as I was writing and posting.  Some of it was quite tough to read.... to acknowledge that even the poetry and stories I had thought I had created as fiction from my imagination were littered with bits of me.  Gut kicking loud.  Reassuring too.... because it has shown me just how much I've learned....how far I've travelled. 

As I read, I realized that writing was my saving grace...... my breath,  my crutch, my teacher, my therapist. My trusty loving companion that never rejected nor unloved me.  It still is. I wouldn't be as whole now (with a variety of life kicking nicks visible both on and under the surface of my skin)  if I hadn't been churning it out day after day for 6 years.  Thank God.   

This part of the process continues in a pace slower than I would have predicted.  Silent in between time is needed to creatively digest.  That little voice informs me with the same little knock when its time to put the folder of raw writing aside and focus on outer landscape trips.  I've been on quite a few of those this summer to.  

Today, I visited my blog in search of a link to a John O'Donohue talk I thought I had posted a couple of years ago.  I never did find it, but I did find a few quotes and gems from him.  While I was skipping through this online place of mine, I felt a strange sense of maternal coziness I had missed.  I knew I had been gone from here too long.... it was time to begin and end a piece..... it was time to click on publish again to connect with YOU.  

Hi.  It's been way too long.....  How have you been?

 

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

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

I yearn for it.  

I think about it. 

Even try to plan for it, 

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

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

Fear.  Fear of the unknown.

Fear of it being too emotionally naked.

Vulnerable.

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

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

clusters of candlelight flicker dance 

above and below,

sending blended scents of ordinary aromas.....

lingering memories I breathe in with no effort.

vanilla, lemongrass, 

clementine blossoms, iced pine,

crisp linen, seashore heather,

cranberry sweetness.

I watch the fire flicker into embers.

Draw nearer

Draw nearer

In the glowing.

Sweet whistles of captured summer rains

sizzle like birdsong

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

air fillap

air fillap

air fillap

spark crackle embers tango with maple yule

send searing heat rays

kissing my barefeet cold from winter floorboards.

compressing my cheeks like the warmth from my grandmothers hands.

I close my eyes......

music filters all around me

choirs of soprano faith hit high echo notes

gently bouncing off cupolas of old cathedrals

voice instruments that soothe ancient shadows

madrigal hymns that massage tired souls

encircling my space like angel goodness

to help persuade dark thoughts to take flight.

for sorrow to latch onto white waves

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

thoughts float in through the open windows

and settle into my awareness

gaps, once clogged in chatter welcome the thoughts

old questions, retooled doubts,

mysteries laden with burdensome timber

accompany the thoughts, transforming them into feelings.

harsh feelings of hurt and broken promises.

I ask why.

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

Why?

My stomach begins to churn again.

Restless phantoms threaten to dissolve stillness into sorrow.

I breathe in scented reassurance.... 

I breathe out relief 

I breathe in sensory enhancing trembles.

I breathe out relief mixed with grins.

Grief work

Letting realities settle.

Choirsong gently softens the edges 

turning sorrows and hurt into ashes and embers

that fall below the flames 

Sounds like flapping sheets in the wind

sweet whistles of captured summer rain

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

gloria..........

gloria.........

draw nearer

draw nearer

hallelujah

in the glowing.....

layers of forgiveness feed the fire

hallelujah

let it go

let it go

soprano faith spills into my sanctuary

bouncing off cupolas of ancient cathedrals

echoing assurance that in life we are never alone.

'tis the season when change is the most trying

when naughty newness is frowned upon

when miracles are dismissed as lies

when judgement wags the know it all finger

when transitions leave stretch marks on swollen bellies 

ready to burst under the discomfort....

Embers slowly accumulate under the dying fire

by the melted candlewax......... 

A star begins to shine brightly on forgiveness

on peace, love, acceptance and hope

Joyful hope

as we prepare for receiving the gift of birth. 

Comfort and Joy.

Comfort and Joy.....

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

Christmas is nearly here.....

 _________________________

Dear God,

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

By........

Letting me breathe in the stark realities without falling apart

Showing  me how to breathe out empathy, peacefulness and forgiveness

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

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

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

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

I am learning.......

gathered dreams.......

In the quiet of a soft whisper sigh, two become one when silence is shared comfort.  In a clearing, a step away from the woods, they stand together.  Looking up into the night sky so vibrantly alive with star memories of gathered dreams they toss their own into the mix.  

Hope and endless possibilities breathe out from their sparkle tips, spreading beyond the galaxy of wishes,  slipping into the otherworld where good spirits weave heartbeats of desire.  Without even a glance, their separate hands reach out to be held at the same time. Fingers clasp.  Warmth flows.  Belonging transfers. Love radiates in the silence of their shared comfort.  

Quietly he steps behind her and wraps his arms around her waist as she tucks into the safety of his arms.  Somehow, in this big old goofy world, they have found one another. 

Swaying sigh........

:)

a ghost just needs a home.....

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You built the altar?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"thank you."

______________

postscript........  

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

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

Amazing grace. How sweet the sound.

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

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

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

blue light

Service....... 

It's all about the journey to an awareness of our gifts.  Its all about being open to sharing them.  Whatever the venue.  When we give, we receive more in return.  Sometimes what we end up receiving is new awareness of how we are being perceived, both negatively and positively.  Sometimes, there is a clear indication that our gifts are not welcome.....not wanted.  Sometimes they are embraced by the receiver with gratitude.  It's a bit of a crapshoot because all you can do is give.  Your gifts.  Be who you are.  Say how you feel.  Share kindness.  Be a good friend.  Listen and learn. You have no control really over how the other person will react, respond, receive.  You can choose only how you give and what you give out.

The key is trying to find the right venue, because if you're stuck in a place where wings are clipped and free spirits are not welcome nor understood, gifts collect dust in the back corner of the pantry. 

Meaning.......... Our lives are a journey of gathering awareness while letting go of our egos.  What I may want, what I hunger for is more than likely driven by obsessed ambition.  And we all know that when our vision is clouded over by salacious needs, we lose our footing.  We lose our way because our Spirit disconnects from our ego driven actions.  It doesn't want any part of it. 

Luckily our true Spirit...... like God is patient.  It knows that most of us humans are slow on the uptake.  WE seemed to need several toe stubbing, head slamming, body jolting, heart stabbing life events to finally realize that our lives are in good Hands if we allow our own to be open to give and to receive.  

So, how does one marry the two?  Service and Meaning? God knows.

Hey God!  You wanna shine a little more blue light on me?  Just a little more of that meaning-full blue light?  I promise I will sit still more often this month.......I have a feeling that's what you would like me to do.  To stop, look and listen........ with an open heart and a pair of open hands.  It's time to seek out answers to just exactly what venue would I fit in to be able to be of good service....where is this place that will allow me to offer up my gifts?  It continues to be a mystery.  My destiny is still behind a curtain.

If anyone is looking for me this month?  I'll be close to some body of water.  Light catches in blue down by the water.  And it is blue light that I am seeking..........

stern your own canoe

"Take time to accept responsibility. Your life is exactly that - It's your life. It is created by you. You are constantly making choices, constantly creating new experiences. And although we can be affected by circumstances which can seem to be completely out of our control, essentially, we decide the direction in which we walk."

Nicolas Watkins

If ever there was an activity that automatically brings me peace, its canoeing.  Even if I'm in rough currents, I still have a sense of the divine resonating inside me.  Though I RARELY get out for a real paddle, and by GOD I'm going to this summer, even the visualization of paddling can soothe the savages that rage inside me. The pictures, the stories, the memories are real and at my mind fingertips whenever I need to "go there."  I think living by the Saint John river and being able to see it every single day has been the source of keeping the internal pictures alive and fresh.

I remember times when I floated along the shores, through the lily pads and lake grass enjoying the water spiders and little fish quietly living their lives. I have found the strength to take deep plunges with my paddle, to fight off the north winds as I cascaded over white caps trying to make it across the lake to a calmer locale. 

I have laid back against the thwarts and looked up into the sky allowing the canoe to drift along the currents. I have sat in wonder under a midnight blue canvas shimmering in starlights without any city lights to tarnish its splendour.  Using my own body strength I have tramped through mosquito ridden woods portaging while leading a group of teens to do the same......... to get to another lake beyond the roads. It was always, always worth the pain and sweat of the portage to get that first glimpse of a pristine lake void of any cottages or motor boats.

For many summers, I taught children how to find their own way using a paddle and a chestnut canoe.  I still smile broadly when I think of it of those times.   One spring, it was my job to teach a bunch of city kid neophytes, who had never set foot outside of their concrete neighbourhoods let alone slept in cabins, or seen a pristine lake surrounded by pine and the beautiful rock of the Canadian Shield all the basics of canoeing.  I would have the group for the morning...........on the docks, close to the beach........ practising.  Just before lunch, we'd pack the canoes and set OFF across the lake to an island where we would set up camp for lunch.  

There, I showed them how to make a good campfire. We'd cook our lunch together and then I'd show them how to use a reflector oven and we'd bake a cake for dessert.  They thought that was magical.  In the afternoons, we'd go exploring........... all around the lake.  And as we went, we'd sing songs, share stories and get to know one another.  Most importantly, we'd make sure that the strength of the group carried us all, even if there was someone with us who struggled to keep up.

The look of fatigue AND accomplishment on these kids faces at the end of the day was brilliant!  I'll never forget it.  These little anklebiter city kids had done something FAR beyond their own reality horizons and it shifted them. To be able to say.... "I did that" can stretch into "I can do that......."  and beyond to "I will try that........."  It was a beautiful lesson in the creating choices and making them.  For yourself.  By yourself.

My canoe now is more or less a metaphor.  I don't own one. I want one, and maybe it will happen soon.

Across the water......... dip, dip and swing.

My days sterning a canoe used to mostly be in familiar waters.  Every now and then, I'd branch out........like I did when I flew across the big blue pond to attend the Greenbelt Festival on my own last year.  Even with that, I had a pretty good inkling of what to expect (though definitely not the whole picture.... much of it was a mystery) and I had familiar friendly faces to greet me..... 

When I look at the paddling I've been doing, some of which feels like going upriver WITHOUT a paddle, I see how I am still sterning.  It's just takes a little more energy, a little more intensity.  On the other hand, I have also learned that sometimes its a good thing to surrender that spot in the canoe to allow another to stern, while kneel in the bow to look out for those standing waves and dead heads.  I've done both this spring........ with the help of friends and family.  With the help of God.


Usually, I know which inlet I'm visiting. I am aware of the weather up ahead. I can find the right harbour, the best shore, the sturdy dock. Familiarity allows for this. Familiarity allows for us to have the feeling that we can paddle solo......that we can do it alone. But, I'm wondering if familiarity also generates doubt which perpetuates desire to tackle something new? We get settled in the same canoe, on the same lake, looking at the same inlets. The seasons come and go, the winds come and go........ all predictably familiar. Which is nice, if you're completely and utterly content.

And if you are.........completely and utterly content...............go with it........more power to you.....rock on.......... just watch out for those nasty snapping turtles, oh and the driftwood.....oh, and watch out for the changing water levels, where all of a sudden, the familiar lake alters it's vista and you're left grounded on a new sandbar with a stick puncturing your beloved canoe.

Yeah, familiarity...............a facade, isn't it, with contentment as a trap?

Today, I headed over to what looks like an inlet from afar, but as you get closer, you can see it's really the beginning of a tributary feeding into another lake. It's the other lake where I have heard has a couple of beautiful campgrounds to check out. It is where my next destination lies. I know this lake, but not as well, so have decided to ask for directions, to ask for help with the navigating.

Help, I pray ........ will you please help me? I asked.......... these are not words I often spout because I'm normally comfortable soloing. I'm normally the navigator for others. But, today I asked someone whom I know clearly has a big picture of the lay of the land and lake..........

His answer?

"Yes, I would love to help you. But, I don't want you to settle for something you're not completely excited about. I want you to be picky about your destination. And while I'm helping you, I want you to plant as many seeds as you can along the way........."

Our lives are created by us, as noted in the quote........but we should never be afraid to check out new vistas, to pass up familiarity and more importantly to ask for help in the paddling to a new destination.

Think I've just pushed off from the shore.....it may be a longer paddle than I anticipate because, well I'm not going to settle for the first campground I check out.....it takes time.......but I have help. We all do. I don't have to navigate alone.  And for that reason, when I look up into the blue heavens above, my prayer will always and forever be....

"Thank you........"

wings

I'm in the market for a new pair of wings. As much as I'm attached to the pair I own, it seems like I have to flap them more often to reach a point of take off.

They are comfortably worn lovely wings that have developed a multi-hued sheen over the years.  If you look closely at them you can see phyllo layers of reflections. Peeled back carefully,  the layers tell my story....my journey.  If you look very closely, you can see the tiny nicks and tatters where awareness shimmies through.  Bits of enlightenment too. Perhaps that's also where the air  friction flows, slowing me down, forcing me to use too much energy.

My wings are my legacy, my individual unique fingerprint fabricated  experiencing life and ALL that it has to impart. They started off as tiny gossamer transparent wings fed and nurtured by my parents' unconditional love, by my grandmother who taught me how to explore the nooks and crannies of our neighbourhood by seeking the backroads less travelled, by the mentors who took me under theirs and shared their gifts.

My wings stretched and grew as I did. The transparency began filling in with gorgeous rainbow colours, flashes of sparkle interspersed with earthy foundations.

I was lucky.  They started off strong, and continued to develop resiliency  with every connection I made in my world. Friends, sisters, aunts, uncles, grandparents, teachers, mentors, lovers, kindreds wove threads of confidence into the character of my very own wings as I grew up. And,  with every life experience, magical dust fell onto them.......some which weighed me down, and some which helped me to fly. They have been everywhere with me, carrying me across adventurous fields I sometimes didn't even know existed.  Yes, I've covered miles and miles of memories, captured in the layers and the sheen.

Let me step back and look at them again from another angle.

Wow! LOOK at them! I LOVE their colour!  So unique!  Their weathered  ends are a blends of joy and grief, of happiness, pain and wonder . Ah! the WONDER! Look at those nicks and tatters. I wonder if this is where enlightenment meets grace. Maybe the air filtering through the tears breathes the spirit needed to reach safe habours?  Do you think the nicks and tatters  are simply the chapter headings of my ongoing learning?  I wonder what I would name each chapter? 

New wings.........??? I dunno.  Maybe I'm more attached to these ones than I realized.  Besides,  where does one buy new wings? e-bay?  kijiji?  Should I test fly a few just to see if they boost my energy....my zip?   Do new wings come with training wheels or operating instructions?   What if I purchase them and find out a little while from now that my new wings and I clash? What then? Can I return them?  Do I really need a brand new pair of wings? How environmentally friendly is that?

hmmmmmmm........ I can't be tossing out a perfectly good set of wings that I have taken a lifetime to polish and buff can I?  They pretty well suit my personality.  But, for some reason I just don't feel like I'm using them to their  potential.  For some reason, they have  curled up ends and the tips are tucked under rather than stretched out. How did that happen?  How did I neglect these wings? 

Perhaps it's not the wings............perhaps its the need to approach the wind currents from a different angle so that the air flows through the nicks more effectively. Perhaps my wings just need a bit of crazy glue along the edges to help direct them across new fields, and a little bit of some magic dusting from those around me to help along the way.  

Maybe all that I need to do is readjust these wings of mine, while I step out into the frontier. To learn how to use them differently.  Maybe I can stretch out into new possibilities far more confidently if I can rely on the foundation that brought me thus far. It seems to me they have miles to go and adventures to experience through unchartered territories before they are laid to rest .  Me too.   

hmmmmm........ now that I look at them from this angle..... I feel like my wings are new again.  Only they seem more special because they have been nurtured by the accumulated stories collected along the way.   I have been blessed to be touched by so many......so many had their hand in creating my wings.  You know? I think I'll keep them and do a little retooling.  I'm not ready to give up all that they represent.  Those old stories threaded through the fabric of these wings are too important to toss out.  

Do you think they will help me soar right into the wilderness?  I hope so, because that's my preferred destination.  

interim .....

get over it
get on with it.
you've got to move on......

not that i particularly enjoy sitting in the field during the interim, i know there is a purpose.  to reach a place where bitterness is left behind, where unanswered questions can be laid to rest, where some answers can be discovered, i have to restlessly remain in a place between "back there and over there...."

sure, i'd love to know the secret timeline for "getting over it....."  does anyone know? 
what are the rules to this process?  OH!  It's an individual thing...... nice.   this isn't a good answer for a chronic perambulating thinker. 

I wish there were times when I could just stop the incessant thinking.  But, that's an impossibility, and absurd in my case.  prayer helps this.... will do more of that. 

just remember..........God provides minimum protection and maximum support.......

yes, yes.......... He's there in that field.... holding me as I face the elements. He's in the ground below where I sit, offering me a pretty fantastic view.....360 degrees, past, present and future.  He keeps reminding me to...

Sit, go slow, walk to clear your head, write to let the feelings and pent up words out, to connect with others,  to do things,  to push outside of the comfort zone often,  to talk it out........ to pray.  He keeps showing up in the most interesting places with a smile and a listening ear.  He lets me be.  He lets me be.  Unprotected but supported. 

I'm learning...... when I think of what I've learned in just a short month, I smile.  I'm smiling.

grief knows no boundaries.  sure there are certain rules of decorum.  i mean you can't prostrate yourself in the middle of a busy intersection without someone calling for the straight jacket.  people grow weary quickly if you carry on too openly with your vitriolic woe is me schtick.  on the other hand, they look at you with judgemental eyes if move too quickly too.  so, what are the rules?  what is the timeline? 

I can only be myself.  But, that didn't work did it?  I was who I am and was rejected. 
Still, I will be myself.
I am who I am.
I can change....... his perceptions of me seem so clearly wrong.  I can't change that.

i have few answers to the questions which bore deep inside me, and this isn't going to change. the answers are not forthcoming and will never be.   i can only twist myself into a pretzel trying to fill in the blanks, trying to face down my own part in the dance that ended.  the sorries have no depth, no meat to them.  things happen, i am told.  i didn't mean it to.  

no that was a choice i say.....a hurting one. a deeply sorrowful hurting one.

it makes me want to lash out.  sometimes i do.  most times i try my best to let it go.  it was not my choice. my choices have come after the dance ended.  the dance has ended. 

we danced so beautifully together..........lively and free......

yeah, we have choices and can choose bravery over weak-kneed escapes. 
the choices reverberate like a clanging gong...........inside me sometimes. 
other times, the gong settles..........
and i know the answers will not be forthcoming.
my apologies to myself and others do.
and soon forgiveness?
i tried.  not good enough it seems.  but i tried.

i'm in the iterim field of lonely still, but i do see that i've moved a speck to the left.  forgiveness is where i am.  forgiveness is where the lifting of the spirit resides.  breathing helps.  breathing is where i am. today.

did you know that the word spirit comes from the word breath?  did you know that the holy spirit is a feminine entity?  as a woman, I will breathe life back into my feminine soul........ like i did with my children.  they came from my breath. 

renewal begins in the spring.....in a field of interim.  I am breathing, filling my lungs the best i can.  my wings are evolving.   eventually a new dance will arise......

Let's see what today brings......... :)

hidden worlds.

"There will be hidden worlds that shine...."

Bruce Springsteen

I walk in solitude, hemmed in by the tempo of synchroncity, a blur of jazz flirting like fingertips on a rosary. I hear the lifting of a veil and a quiet ping of spirits. They settle within the entwined echos of my footsteps lost on an empty street wet with rain. They haunt my drifting reveries with blessed caresses lightly dancing in the air all around this dark night.... spirits sacred in the boughs of sweet pine. They stay close to me on this lonely night of ten Hail Mary's until my own spirit rises up to join in the dance. And when the trumpet hits a single high note, our spirits slip effortlessly into the timbre of a holy space where mystery dwells in the ancient grace of mercy. 

In a world without end, we moved like spirits in the night....together. It made all the difference. 

We're never alone inside the hidden worlds that shine.

ps. this is a piece i wrote last year.  it was inspired by Springsteen's magical lyrics.  I tried to capture the same feeling he so masterfully captures.  I read it now, and it fits me differently.  In a good way. In a good way.....

the hole in the fence......

There is a story about a sheep who lived within a flock.  All day long, all he could hear was bleat, bleat, bleat as they all went about doing the same things over and over again.  Restless to break out of this fenced in existence of predictability, one that was strife with rules and known expectations, he longed to runaway.  No longer did he see the other sheep as individuals with unique personalities.  They all blended in together, faceless and wholly.  It was like he became blind to their gifts.  

He was also numb to their desire to connect with him through love.  Their bleats began to mean nothing.  Bit by bit, the lens he was looking through painted a distant picture of all of them grazing together on the other side of the field.  In his tiny brain, he interpreted this view as rejection.  They had rejected him, rather than the reality of the situation.  He had rejected them. But, it was too late.  He began to believe that he was a misfit.  He didn't fit within the flock.  His fenced in area did not feel like Home.  In turn, as a way to protect himself, he started to question everything he had been taught, and dismissed it all as mere fluff. 

One day, as he wandered around the perimeter feeling sorry for himself, he found a hole in the fence.  He climbed through it and found himself surrounded by new fields to explore.  For the first time in his life, he was able to experience open spaces independent of the flock and he made the best of his newly found freedom.  For a while the sheep felt such exhilaration while he took advantage of living outside of the fence.  He romped when he wanted to, slept when he wanted to, ate when he wanted to.  Never again, he thought, will I have to justify my actions, nor my thoughts.  I can believe what I want to, live how I want to and not be questioned by a bunch of bleating idiots.

Day turned into night...... night turned into day........ time passed, and he continued to enjoy himself.   However, he realized that he had no one to share it with.  He had no one to talk to about it.  This began to weigh heavily on him.  For as much as he loved his independence, he also felt the unease of not being connected to his flock.  His sense of belonging dried up along with the sense of being loved.  Loneliness crept in especially at night, when he realized that his total freedom did not include any sense of home.  Home, where he was loved and cared for.  Home, where he was a member. 

Though he felt like he needed all of those things.......... freedom, love, belonging, fun his new life was not conducive to this.  It made him cry.... big sheepy tears.  

It also took his appetite away.  He didn't have the energy to eat or to take care of himself.  Lethargy coursed through his body and soon he felt too weak to enjoy his freedom.  Given this was all that he had been focused on for so long....... given that this was his dream, the reality of his situation and of his unrelenting need to share his new experiences with others made him feel like such a failure.  He turned his back on his flock, dismissed them as useless bleaters and now he was alone and slowly dying. What he wanted for himself for so long dried up in a mushroom cloud full of doubt and despair.  With shame from failure in his heart, he lay down under a large maple tree and gave up.

Little did the sheep know, but his flock had not stopped caring.  Even though he made it perfectly clear how he felt, they worried about him, and prayed for his return.  The Shepherd too hadn't forgotten about him either and whenever he could, he went searching for his lost little one.  On the day the sheep lay down in surrender, the Shepherd caught sight of him just in time.  

Shocked by how thin and scruffy his little one looked, the Shephard's heart felt such pain and relief at the same time.  Quietly, he approached the sleeping sheep and slipped his strong arms under his shaggy coat.  He lifted the sheep up into his arms, all the while whispering to him how much he had been missed and how much he was loved.  From the distance of deep slumber, the little sheep opened his eyes and looked into the eyes of the man who had for so long looked after him.  A full smile melted the sheep's worn out body as he slipped into the most relaxing sleep he had ever known.

When they returned to the fenced in area, the flock rushed over with relief to tend to their lost one.  For days, they looked after him....... made sure he had food and water, but more importantly made sure to let him know how much he was missed.... how much he was loved.  In no time the adventurous sheep gained his strength back.  He was able to reflect on his travels and on what he had learned.  His appreciation for his fellow sheep grew and grew as he realized how deeply he had missed them......  how he had missed being a member of a flock.  

What amazed the once restless Sheep was the fact that they had always accepted him for who he was, even when he had dismissed them as unknowing and stupid.   They knew he needed to travel beyond the fence to learn for himself some of life's biggest lessons.  So did the Shepherd.  For he was the one who cut the hole in the fence in the first place.  And he is the one who ensures the hole remains to this day. 

___________________________________________________

There is a stubbornness inherent in our desire for independence.  It provides nourishment to push through the burdensome trappings of all those rules which we are taught to obey..... to abide by.  It blinds us too and gives us false approval and security to negate what is proper behaviour.  Our determination to step outside of the lessons we are taught, the values and beliefs we are fed, the "life" we are supposed to lead, moves us to a place where we become irresponsible in the eyes of the ones who love us unconditionally.  Do we all experience this in our life journey?  Can it be any other way?  

Its not that we want to hurt others.  Its just that we need to figure it out for ourselves.  So, we drift. We wander both internally and externally.  We question everything.  We attempt to fulfill our fantasies.  We take risks while trying not to see the consequences.  We act like children........ emotionally heightened by our stubborn desire to learn about life and faith and right and wrong in our own way.  We become selfishly distant, obsessed by our own ego driven needs as we taste as much elixir as we can consume.  

It can last a long, long time.  Running away can even last a lifetime if we continue to avoid rest, and reflection.  If we become addicted to the dark side of freedom, we never lift our heads up to open our eyes to see the destruction, or to recognize the lessons we had originally forged out to learn.  On our own.  In a blaze of stubborn determination.  Lost and never found. Illusions are enticing bedfellows.

And when life doesn't go as we had expected it to, or we bang up against nasty stormfronts and personal failure what do we do?  We feel pain.  Automatically we blame God.  We act out in anger and turn our energy outward with fists in the air.  We stomp our feet and shout out loud..... Unfair!  How can I believe in You who would let me down, make me suffer, let me runaway?  

Amazing how quickly we forget the greatest gift God gave us..... free will.... the autonomy to choose how we live within freedom.   God cut the hole in the fence to begin with, and it remains to this day. 

So, what does all this mean?  I'm still chewing on the Parable of the Prodigal Son.  And I may continue until all the sheep come home.  :)

Random bits.........

Hey Friends!  How have you been???  I've missed our beautiful instantaneous connections through this venue lately.   

I've been underground and under the covers this past week.......soaking up the Winter Olympics while nursing one strange head cold.  In between ravaging through two boxes of kleenex, and wondering who put the sand paper in my eye sockets, I've even been a wee bit productive.  Not on the blogosphere, but behind the scenes.......... inside the guts of my blog.  What a ride!

I've been going back through the Awareness archives, reading, reflecting, rewinding.... and choosing various pieces to rework.  Along the way, I also read the many many wonderful comments people have left..... the encouragement and feedback, the quotes and lyrics, and the heart stoked stories and the humourous admissions you've shared from your lives.  Thank you. :)

The whole process, which is still underway, has taken me a long time to finally tackle, but I guess had to wait until it felt right.  The fact that my muse had gone into hibernation, and that I've been feeling tapped out for a couple of months now, helped get me to that point.  However,  it took a full fledged nose running stop to confront that big old meaney called procrastination.  Rationalization just wasn't working anymore. 

So, I've begun.............collecting, sampling, clumping and dismissing.  Any posts I've written about politics or issues of the day, or any ranty pants stuff I've cast aside.  Instead, I'm focused on a few key themes.  From there, I am HOPING an idea of what to do with the pieces that make the cut will float from the nether regions.   As much as I'd like to know now, I also am feeling a sense of purpose while pacing the process.  It's teaching me patience; a lesson I work at daily.

More than anything, its been humbling.  Though I see how much my writing has strengthened, I also see how heavy handed some of it is. This can also be defined as crap and in need of serious reworking or just downright chucking.   However, it is what it is.  The writing served a purpose, an outlet, a therapeutic way of finding linearity in the mindfield of living out loud.  Whether it will resurface in some other way is a mystery.  Who doesn't like a good mystery though eh??

I'll keep you posted................ I'm very excited to have finally started.  I feel unstuck.  

Now?  Back to the Winter Games!  Are you watching?  Taking any of it in?  

Winter sports are in a category all on their own.  From the downhill ski events, to short track speed skating..... to figure skating.  I love it all.  Like others, what pulls me in are the life stories of the athletes as well as the stories which unfold as the Games unfold. 

The one to watch is Joannie Rochette.  She's our Figure Skating champion who sits in third place after the short program.  Her mother passed away suddenly on Saturday leaving a family, a hometown in Quebec and a skating community completely shocked and bereft.  Last night, Joannie took to the ice with grace and poise and performed a flawless program in front of a sold out audience and a whole country who stood and watched in tears.......... cheering her on.  It was beautiful and heart breaking.  After she took a bow, she fell into the arms of her coach and sobbed.   May she somehow gather the inner strength and feel the angels all around her in order to perform one more time on Thursday night.  

Say a little prayer for Joannie, will you?  

Tonight Canada vs Russia in the quarterfinals.  We're on our way to winning the game .......... and moving on.  If you have ever been interested in learning about the crazy Canuck game of hockey, tune in!  It's fast paced, and absolutely THRILLING!   The Gold Medal game will be played on Sunday.  The whole country is holding their breath in hopes that we'll be playing  for GOLD with glowing hearts!   Believe me, even if you aren't watching, you'll hear a whole country belting out their emotions all weekend long ...... guaranteed to reverberate out into the soundwaves  and right into your homes .........