Fellowship and Greenbelt

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

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

May old friendships deepen

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

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

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

the sweet scent of serenity

Spencer's Island twilight blues.....

"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change......and to recognize that peace can be everlasting.

God grant me the courage and wisdom to know the difference of what I can and cannot change."

Serenity. 

Has it become one of those well worn words, or does it still have a purity to it that goes beyond a bath oil essence? We do our very best to market it or bottle it or even sell it in dark alleys. We hang posters of it in our family rooms or offices. We sniff it, spread it, sit in it, ingest it. We have turned it into a mission statement for all recovering human beings.  Gee, I'm sure we've even made porn movies starring someone named Serenity. Condoms? Is there a serenity brand? Probably, along with a dozen or so sex toys all promoting a cascadingly erotic trip to serenity. I'm not saying that one can't find serenity after a rousing romp of steamy sex, but is that serenity or simply exhaustion after a release of pent up hormones? 

Hmmmmm...........good question, Awareness! Anyone have an answer to that one?

Well, let me give it a shot. (ok that was deliberate Anon!) Given that the definition refers to a state of peaceful being, it seems whatever leads you to that door is up for grabs.

Serenity. It's still one of my most favourite words......right up there with the word Bliss.  Though it's not one I use often in my daily life., because serenity and daily life don't seem to merge on a regular basis. This week, the word kept harmonizing in my head as I tried to strip away the fog of stress. It was like a mantra replaying over and over in my thinking.  When I was able to focus on the soothing cool waters that do accompany the sound of the word and the vision I have of its poetic contentment......?  I could feel its balm massage my temples.  I could feel a stillness just a fingertip touch away.....

Ah!   The sweet scent of serenity.... like the enticing aroma of crushed wild roses or the dainty scent of lily of the valley....  a lavender field in full bloom, a fresh cut lilac bouquet lingering a light essence in the breezes of a home.......

Calm cool quiescence........the warm encompassing feeling as one watches a beautiful summer sunset after a challenging day. It seems to soak into our pores like a salve or a lotion which moisturizes our parched skin when we've been away from recognizing beauty of the world around us. One amazing sunset can realign our universe and leave us understanding serenity more deeply....and longing for more.  We taste the sweetness of serenity and we yearn for more..... just one taste leaves your heart bleeding for more.

Yesterday, I had an impromptu lunch with two beautiful women.  Friends.  We're all going through our own difficult stuff and I hope they know I am there for them as much as they have been there for me.  When we get together, there is always a flurry of activity and chatting.... catching up like we havent seen one another in a long time and yet we have been in touch regularly for a long time now.  But it just seems as though so much happens in a spit of a moment that there is always a sense of a reunion. Today was no different..... and the feelings and frustrations were shared.  

Eventually, as we ate the most delicious homemade curry soup and fresh pesto green beans compliments of one of these friends, we began to talk about serenity......needing it, yearning for it..... trying to capture it even for a fleeting moment as a way to catch our breath.  As a way to breathe more evenly.  It seemed like an impossible task, to capture the glow of serenity, but interestingly as we began talking about our desires, the level of intensity in the air settled.  Our voices, once shrill with frustration softened.  The sounds around us became quieter.  As we simply spoke of the magic of serenity.  Like it longed to be heard.  

Whisper the word .............. "serenity."  There's no need for a prayer full of words.  You simply need one.....  "serenity."  You reach that place of comfort when time floats freely in the thinness of air, and it automatically leads you to the next part of the prayer.... "Thank you."

 

Though it can't be forced, serenity is really all around us if we just take the time to slip into it's magical soft scented powers every once in a while. It may mean a soak in a tub filled with aromatic essences, or an early morning wake up to be alone with your thoughts, or an intimate candlelit moment of lovemaking. It may be the feeling one attains after a completing a mid morning jog, or sitting down on a train heading home after a long day of interacting joyfully with a group of enthusiastic learners..........our serenities are as unique as our thumbprints. But, the feeling is always the same. It is a peaceful centred existence when all of a sudden we can honestly say.....

All is right in the world. All is right with the world....  For a moment, I touched the hem of Heaven.

May you find your source of poetic peacefulness at least once a day and may you share yours with a friend. 

 ps.  J and H?  Serenity is sorting through beach glass with glee allowing it to be the lead in a new fabulous piece of art. It will be the flow of the creative process that will lead you to its door......

the breath of shadows

The old country church was unlocked for us by the beautiful woman who has held the key for many years.  All we had to do was ask, and she wholeheartedly obliged knowing how important it was for us to touch base.  Then, my son and I were left to ourselves to take in the ambient memories, a few of which are our own.  Most are accumulatively shared with generations of ancestors who have attended services, held the hymn books, prayed together, listened to scripture. 

Generations all tied to my son were baptized, confirmed, married, eulogized within these walls. His paternal family has sat in these pews,  have sung in these choirs.  His ancestors helped build this little holy place.  He knows this inherently.  He's aware of this through the stories we have passed onto him.  The gift he feels is a sense of belonging that stretches from the present back into the breath of shadows.  The stories echo home. 

It was my son's idea to spend time in the little church during our first visit back to a place this family of mine holds close to our hearts.  Initially, his request surprised me.  I knew he wanted to walk the circle of the village road to say hello to the people in our lives whom we hadn't seen since last summer.  Though I knew it would be an emotionally charged pursuit, I wanted to as well.  

Going inside the church wasn't something I expected my son to want to do. When I thought about it, his desire made sense.  I guess I just didn't realize how much that place already held the stories for him.  As they do for his Dad.  As they do for his Aunt and Uncle.  As they do for his Cousins.  As they do for his Sister and Me.  Stories linger in the breath of the shadows.

Like everyone, however, who is attached to this village, the Spencer's Island church cradled those important ties that bind in the breath and shadows of people who tangibly represent the eternal. My son had only ever attended a few services there, the last two being a memorial service for his grandparents and a rededication of the church which included remembrance of two elders who had passed on in recent years.  The names Spicer  Currie and Gamblin touch chords in us.  Deeply meaningful, ancestral names.  At those services, he sat in a pew surrounded by an extended family  many of whom he didn't know personally but who knew him.  He is the namesake of his Great Uncle Max. This is  how he is "known."  Uncle Max was an elder and a lifelong active resident of this community.  More intimately, he was our constant anytime we visited and he continues to cast a big presence in our lives.  God, I miss him.

As I took photos from the balcony, it was Uncle Max's voice I could hear the most pronouced...........singing in the choir, telling us stories, welcoming us with a huge smile and a big bear hug when we arrived to the big old house he had grown up in, which had been left in the Will to his sister, my Mother in Law..... my son's GrandMim.  The old house is now out of our reach.  We don't have access to it anymore.  But, the visit to the church reminded us both that its not what matters.  What matters is feeling the spirits of past and present which emanate throughout the village, especially in the pews of this little church. 

While my son looked around at the dedication plaques and recognized the names of relatives, he asked many questions.... good sense of belonging questions.   I could see in him how much it meant to feel this grounding...... this sense of place and person and hoped it helped him find a settling in the turmoil we have been experiencing.  His spirits were bouyant, uplifted........ which in turn lifted mine.

I continued to look around through the lens of my camera to catch the shadows of mid morning.  It was then that I remembered something about shadows ........... one can hear the sounds, the voices, the hymns caught in their breath when there's light shining above.  For it is light which allows the shadows to form...... Light provides the breath..........the spirit.  No light.  No shadows.  No breath from the past......

As we left........... my son asked me to remind him of his first trip to Spencer's Island.......... It was November, 12 and a half years ago.  He was 6 weeks old, and slept through the night for the first time in his wee life, cozied up in a basket bassinet right beside me........ The next day, we all went for a walk into Uncle Max's woods on a beautiful crisp sunny day.......... he in a snuggly wrapped around his Dad's chest ..... content as can be ..... and when he was hungry, I sat comfortably on a log in the middle of the woods and nursed my boy.  He loves that story.  So do I.  

More to come........................

reverence....

Being open to the ineffable moments of nature stretches our spiritual realities. Look no further than your garden for lessons on being patient, on evolving beauty, on miracles hidden within the petals of one blossom. As we stand in wonderment and awe, we recognize a place cupped in mystery.  Words slip away into silence.  There's no rush to find the spoken words. For, it is in the silent reverence in the presence of one of God's creations where we feel the most enlightening affirmation of life. 

We don't revere the known. We revere the unknown which in turn feeds our creativity through inspiration from the Divine.  The essence of the unknown drives our insatiable need to understand... to learn more.... to seek out the words to describe the indescribable. There are so many wonders without explanation. That's reality.  
Reverence is an electrical prickly skin feeling.  It is an invisible energy to grab onto, for it allows the transcendence of a symphonic faith permeate the space inside which is holy.

Reverence allows us to see the outline of the Apparition who dwells in our hearts and souls by shining a light of believing onto the Holy Spirit.  Without a sense of reverence, we would never explore the depths of our own caverns......

predawn renewal

 the mystic keens
his secret night aches
heard only
in the rustling
tendershoot leaves
and in the windblown pine
of his beloved wood.

 

he stands alone
deep in the wild
searching
for
an echoing answer
an echoing answer
knowing they are only heard
in the thin precipice
of dawn



it is there
inside his tearsoaked soul
the kneeling spirit weeps
her song of love
unburdening him 

of untapped yearnings
with her soft unspoken presence



silently

he leans into her moist tears

and prays....

into the sound of an answering echo

resplendent relief cleanses

his loneliness like 

an april shower pouring kisses

on bridled faith

smiling, 

his eyes closed in comfort

the mystic 

inhales

the aromatic earth of the woods

like one who belongs in nature

his wildwood prayers were heard

just before

dawn awakened a new day

ps..... i couldn't sleep and began to wonder about mystics and whether they have big doubts too at 3 am.  the echoing answer was a resounding yes.  that thought comforted me, knowing even the most devout have sleepless nights, and there isn't a darn thing wrong with that.....once in a while.

the language of silence

Do you think God speaks the language of silence?  I've been wondering about this for about a week now.  There are some people who swear they have "talked to God" and I can't say I've had a regular conversation with Him, but I know I've felt His presence.  Now, I wonder if I  actually have had a few chats over an emptied cup of silence.  

I have felt  God's presence when I have managed to slip into that comforting soulcove where the soothing sense of inner tranquility resonates peace.   It doesn't happen as often as I'd like, though I know I'm learning the directions to this sacred place and I seem to crave the opportunity to hang out there more and more.   When life is chaotic and complicated, the need for the simple elegance of silence to ward of the chattering noise increases considerably.

Lately, this is how I find it...  I turn down the volume by opening up to absorb the noises, slow the pace, let my muscles relax while I focus on one small item in my hand.  Sometimes its a smooth touchstone.  Sometimes I wrap my left hand with my rosary and stare at the light catching the beads.  I breathe, focusing on it the simplicity of breathing.   I close my eyes when I want to....... I open them every now and then to stare at the simple reverence of what I'm holding in my left hand.  Hope rests there, as I clear away the cobweb concerns, as I empty the cluttered spaces. 

Once I begin to absorb the external noises so that they don't feel like they are bombarding me, I move to the internal noise with the intentions of seeking .... Balance from the dizziness.  Comfort in the discomfort.  Energy inside the vortex of exhaustion.   I focus on the breathing.  Just regular everyday breathing.  If the feelings come to the surface, they are welcomed and then allowed to pass on by.

pass on by....

pass on by.....

until the silence arrives to fill the emptied spaces.

Today at church, I listened to a gifted man talk about the Holy Spirit.  Can't see, touch, or hear Her...... But she touches down sometimes when you least expect it, and sometimes when you reach into that pocketed soulcove and breathe.   Sometimes She has the capacity of catching your breath.  Out of the blue.  Into the light.

Tonight, after a whole afternoon of struggling with a major dip in the calm I thought I had found, which was caused by being triggered over a seemingly small encounter with a symbolic piece of technology..... a cellphone which  originally contained the information I needed to figure out who he was having an affair with, I retreated to my room.  I had tried many other ways to settle the noisy storm, with no relief.  Once suffering starts, it spreads like mind sparking wildfire.  I don't know if its just me, but as soon as I begin to spiral like that, its very difficult to stop it and just walk away.   It happens just too swiftly.

Sad, angry, feeling such a sense of failure for not being able to make this marriage work, feeling grief and rejection for knowing he is comforted now by another woman, (who seems to be reading my blog regularly.... Hi there!!) However, as soon as I decided to try to seek silence as I had previously, I was quickly able to find my core again.  As quickly as I can ROLL down that hill into deep sadness, I can now pull it together while sitting in the emotions all stirred up and spicy. This is where I am.  This is what I've learned from the turmoil of a failed marriage. 

I can talk to God in the language of his choice.  Silence.  Love.

Calm found me in the centre of absorbing the outside and inside noise........ just breathing.  It was right then and there that I could feel the piercing feelings loosen and fall away.  It was right then and there that I swear the Holy Spirit entered my room in comforting silence.  She's not an illusion.  She is in every breath we take.  Its just that sometimes our breathing is too loud and we miss out on the language of silence, where God dwells. 

Inner silence is the gift of grace when the Holy Spirit's presence is near.  

This is God's calling card.

a touch of serenity

He quietly slips under her skin with a soft sigh and holds her soul on a pillow of down. He rocks her as gently as unseen waves on a calm summer day and surrounds her in a honeysuckle breeze, an aroma that lightly touches her skin, quenching that inner aching thirst to be loved. He leaves her in his haven where desires melt into contentment, where sleep comes like a baby's, safely and soundly. Not a peep of discomfort can be heard as he pours himself into the nooks where worry dwells. As fleeting as he can be, serenity is a welcome surrendering respite like the first sip of a perfect cup of tea. 

Both make her smile.  Both allow her to acknowledge the blessings all around her.

hellos, goodbyes and important life lessons

Miss Muskie and her crew of campers, circa 1980 

 I have never been able to encapsulate the intense feelings that accompany an experience of living for an extended period of time amongst a group of people who are all around the same age.  However, when I meet up with someone who has had such an opportunity, there is almost an unspoken smile, a nod and a faraway glimmer in their eyes.  They know.  They know.

For 12 summers during my youth, I spent time immersed in a community that offered this expansive emotional ride.  At age 9, I attended Camp Kawabi for the first time as a camper and fell in love with the place and its energy.  It began as a two week stint, but morphed into one month at age 12, and then the whole summer when I transitioned onto staff when I was 15, continuing until it was time to say goodbye the very last time the summer I turned 21. 

Even though its been more than 25 years since then and many of the events, activities, connections, the late night antics, days off, canoe trips, chapels, campfires, hot summer sunny days and rainy day hikes have blended together, there are moments which are still so crystal clear.   They allow me to revisit a time when I learned how intense a keenly felt sense of belonging can alter how you look at the world and what is really important in life.   Friendship, love, acceptance, trust in others, trust in myself, respect and appreciation for differences, mentoring, supporting one another, helping others .......... all continue to feed my sense of who I am, what I believe in and who I strive to be with confidence.  Most predominantly ensconced however are the feelings which I treasure... ALL of them. 

These are the same emotions and values which we learn from our families as well, but when a person has the chance to step out beyond their own nest into a group and experience the unbelievable joys and sorrows of belonging?  It takes you to a place one can only share with a kindred spirit who has experienced it as well.  Believe me, I've tried to explain this but I've never managed to get it right. 

These thoughts have re-emerged of late as I've done my best to help my children make sense of it.  In the past 5 months, they have experienced this amazing intensity;  last summer for my daughter when she signed on as a Counsellor in Training at Camp Glenburn and more recently for my son, who just returned from a month in Costa Rica with an organization called CISV (Children's International Summer Villages.) Both of them have ventured off our front lawn to live amongst a group of peers, led by trusting people. They have learned many new skills which will come in handy as they grow into adults.  The values we have done our best to pass on to them have been reinforced fully by their experience. And, they have made longlasting heart connection friendships with others who draw upon the same feelings and the same values.  Independently, they both found themselves immersed in a sense of belonging so wondrous that it left them reeling.  

Martha and her Glenburn kindreds, smiles from the inside out

Not wanting the moments to end, they returned home overwrought with the sorrow of saying goodbye to the friends who are like family and goodbye to life altering happenings.  Many stories.  Many questions and new ideas. Big tears.  Big pain.  Big transitions back to the ordinary reality of a home routine and the reconnection to family and friends they had left behind. To say this adjustment is difficult is an understatement.  To say these life lessons are important is also an understatement.  Why?  Because so many internal shifts happen during these opportunities and they happen within a relatively short time frame.  It takes a while to adjust, to refocus, to recognize the personal impact.  It's all positive in the long run, but in the short run, the initial feeling of pulling away from a group your whole spirit was blended into is akin to losing a piece of yourself. I wish everyone could have a chance to go through this ride. 

For some mysterious reason,  I spent their first days home with them alone.   With my daughter, I was the lucky one to pick her up at camp on the last day.  If you've never seen a group of teenage camp counsellors on the morning after the campers have left at the end of the summer, you'd never believe it.  Not only do they look like a train wreck because they haven't really slept much all summer because they've worked their butts off running "the show" caring for the "ankle-biters" and stringing the late nights "hanging out" with their buddies, they have just pulled one last all-nighter as a way to stretch their final moments together.  Believe me, it's brutal!  I've been the sleep deprived counsellor with a mitt full of snotty kleenexes and a heart that feels like its been ripped out.  It is the emptiest bone weary feeling.  Now,  I can say I was the Momma loading the van of half packed bits of summer memories, luring the sobbing daughter to the front seat and then listening through my own tears to the stories and pouring emotions while trying to keep the van on the winding road home. 

My heart broke for her......... the magically lovely summer moments of bonding with kindred spirits was over.  It has changed her in ways she still isn't fully aware of.   It stretched her, comforted her, AND discomforted her.  That's what important learning does.  It offered her a really good taste of independence, of learning how to make decisions, to weigh options, to be herself and to know the unbridled trust you can feel when sharing your deepest secrets with someone who not only "gets you" but accepts you unconditionally.  Those gifts of friendship will forever be quilted to her soul.  I know, because mine still are. And you know what?  I still miss my camp days..... all these years later.  It was that meaningful. The lessons linger...........  The lessons guide me daily.

We talked and talked, just the two of us for a whole day.......... I left her alone when she needed to sift through her memories and I tried to be there for her when she wanted to share a story.  I promised she could have all of her camp friends visit whenever it could be arranged, though I knew it wouldn't be the same.  My empathy was boundless and I knew her transition was going to be a rough ride.  Her friends whom she had left behind at the beginning of the summer couldn't understand her disinterest in coming back to "planet earth...."   It took time........ and a bunch of mini reunions throughout the fall to help her find her footing again while she readjusted to the changes inside herself and to have those leadership value lessons reinforced more fully.

Max in Costa Rica with his arm around his new buddy.....could the smile be any bigger?

My son who is younger than I was to have gone through such an amazing experience......... he's only 12......... also crash landed.  He returned home at the end of January.  His reaction was even more intense because the people he grew close to live in other countries around the world.......... Finland, Sweden, Brazil, England, Costa Rica, Thailand, Guatemala.... this put a whole new spin on it.  

Despite the language differences, and the adjustment to being so darn far away from home, he gathered a whole heart and head full of awareness that he will forever be changed.  Even though the geographical distances are huge and that reality is what hits him the hardest, he is tied to a group of kindreds who also absorbed the same huge lessons ..... global peace, equality, leadership, advocacy, problem solving and many many more.  He has joined a group of multi-cultural kids who have become enlightened while they became friends for life.  

On the day I spent home with my son before he returned to school, we shared tears and talked.   It was probably the most important relationship building day for the two of us.  I shared stories with him that I hadn't before.  He shared stories with me that perhaps he wouldn't have if he thought I wouldn't understand.  Like I did with his sister, I expressed to him how privileged he is to have had the opportunity to feel life as deeply as he has......... AND to know that the friendships he made will always remain with him along with his own learning.  I pointed out that he now has his own group of kindreds he will forever be attached to and that because of his opportunities, he has a responsibility to continue to expand his awareness of the plight of others.  He gets it.  At age 12, he knows that joy is eternally tied with sorrow.......... and all the feelings in between.  

It has been intense, but it has all be very very good. Tonight, I say a prayer of thanks for my own experiences at camp because once again........ they helped me understand what my children were feeling and guide them through big maze of milestones they are coping with in their young lives.  In turn, they have helped me re-evaluate those lessons I gathered up, as well as gave me another glimpse at how important those friendships have been all these years.   

 

Max learning a few new dance moves at a War Child fundraiser on Saturday evening.

eyesore and almost empty

Five words to describe where I am right now at this moment?  (For you Pip)

eyesore

almostempty

open

almostcontent

grateful

Its Friday evening. For a few precious hours, I have the house to myself. Time to think, to deflate,  to reclaim that lost chord again. Time to sit in front of a newly lit fire, to surround myself with the beauty of that certain music which has the ability to seep right under my skin to help me find that chord.  Time to breathe........to breathe in the comfort of home.  Time to sip on a glass of wine (or two).  Time to write from a relaxed place.  I can almost hear the early morning warbling symphony of birdsong I always long to hear at this time of year.  I can almost touch that sensation I feel when I have a paddle in my hands and I'm pulling the water with the strength of my own body as I glide forward, the canoe and I with one stroke............... deep waters, deep feelings....... good, good feelings.  I'm almost there.

Outside, the wind wails through crackling bare birches, across cropped fields and creates chopping waves on unseasonably open waters of the Saint John river.  It has stirred up the powdery snow, freshly fallen, and left creations of drifts with peaks of frozen purity.  The temperatures have dipped down low, low, low making the wind bite exposed flesh with vicious intent. This busting wind also leaves healthy rosy cheeks and puts life into the pale white of the season. 

These cold snowy days push your patience to make you struggle under layers of bulky bundles of clothing.  But, it also stirs determination, and puts the fight back into you.  It rattles and shakes.......it pokes your sensibilities and frustrations in a way that wakes you up.  They also make you rush as fast as you can for shelter, with glowing gratitude. 

This is where I am tonight.  Inside, with a view of the warm fire whose heat is radiating into my feet and up my legs..........but also with a view of the snow-art captured on the eaves and railings like white frosting. On the other side of the river, the streetlights flicker with a winking twinkle; an illusion performed by the wind.  They remind me of stars. And because they are at my eye level, they make me feel like I'm sitting in the middle of the universe.  Cozy, landed in the stars. 

It's been an incredibly busy week and when I've had time to take a deep breath, I couldn't.  Instead, I found myself burdened with drama, surrounded by emotional sparks that just seemed to gather as the week unfolded.  You'd think I would be used to it.............most of my weeks are like that, but I never do.  Sometimes it feels like a chaos of trippy colours all smashing their hues into one another rather than blending in. 

It's a bit overwhelming........like when the winter wind takes your breath right out of your lungs.  It leaves me eyesore and bone tired.  It threatens to zap me of the last vestiges of my energy.  Interestingly, that empty feeling?  It puts me on a vulnerable precipice where I am more prone to recognize my blessings, my gifts.  For that, I am grateful. Almost.

I try my best to ride it.......to pull that paddle through the choppy waters in order to propel myself beyond the rapids.  I try my best to sit in it sometimes too........... to experience the unpredictable sensations of the unknown.   Emotions do that.  Like any new storm though, you can only rely on the gifts and skills you've acquired thus far.  Then, you must surrender.... to be open to receiving what it is that God seems to want you to acquire.  

Life lived awake forces you to stretch beyond home shores, but it surely does provide lessons and opportunities to reflect and to learn from, if you're willing.  Though there are some weeks when you are stretched by the slapping winds of insecurity more than others.  However, they all hold the same amount of time to experience both the comfort and the discomfort. And, all of the comfort and discomfort experienced is fodder for future writing.  

Stay tuned.............  :) I'm almost empty.  I'm definitely eyesore.

fueling a dream

It begins as a flint striking steel, producing a spark hot enough to ignite tinder.  It continues as you add more heat and fuel but will only grow into flames if there is fresh air flowing through the woven bits of kindling.  One flint, one spark, bits of straw along with the surrounding oxygen and you've got yourself the beginning of a crackling fire.  

It begins as a faint idea toppling out of the friction between your head and heart.  A thought spark hot enough to ignite feelings of desire.  It continues as you add more passion and gathered information, but will only grow into a dream if there is fresh air, a spirit,  flowing through the woven bits of contemplation.  One faint idea, one spark between thought and feelings, bits of reflective yearnings along with the surrounding oxygen to feed the passion behind the idea and you've got yourself the beginning of a dream. 

So often our attempts to turn a spark into a productive fire, to turn a faint idea into a dream dies out before we have a chance to fuel it.........or to provide enough breath to keep hope alive.  It can be a disappointing process, filled with a sense of failure and not a lick of success.  All smoke and no flame. It can drag you down, and strip you of the desire needed to replenish.  You begin to lose the internal combustion as you try desperately to figure out why the flame didn't ignite. 

When for one reason or another we do manage to grow a dream, it almost seems like a miracle because it feels like it occurs against all odds.  There is a piece of a fulfilled dream, however,  that has no clear explanation as to why this one sparked brightly enough to broaden into something real and tangible.  This is where destiny dwells.........it's where a divine light shines.  No dream is complete without some mystery.  

All we can do is carry our flint/idea, a piece of metal (our thoughts and feelings) and a pocketful of straw and twigs (reflections, contemplations, ruminations).  All we can do is offer our spirit..........our air to oxygenate our thoughts and feelings to turn them into action.  A dream needs heat, fuel, air and a little bit of divine intervention to come alive.  

You also have to put words to it..........you have to vocalize it or else it will just remain a haze of smokey illusions.  When was the last time you shared a dream idea with someone? 

Just for the record?  I really really really want to visit the Island of Iona.  

Elements

"As you grow, you develop the ideal of where your true belonging could be - the place, the home, the partner, and the work.  You seldom achieve all the elements of the ideal, but it travels with you as the criterion and standard of what true belonging could be."  John O'Donohue, Eternal Echoes, Celtic Reflections on Our Yearning to Belong

Lately I have been really struggling with errant thoughts about health and mortality.  I don't know why.  It happens from time to time and it impacts any semblance of routine i have in my life.  It pulls me into a state of awakened fear and anxiety like nothing else.  Panic just fills my pores.  It also messes up my ability to focus, to write, to find my grounding.  Does that happen to you?  I

t's like a massive jolt of caffeine to the soul and I have a very tough time shaking the intrusive thoughts.  It makes me question who I am, where I am, if everyone around me is safe, if I am fulfilling my life to the best of what I am capable of (no), if I am giving of my love and kindness as expressively as I can.  I wonder if this is all there is, and wrestle with trying to understand how others see me.  Basically, I question my sense of belonging and get all tangled up in a mess of self loathing.  Not pretty.  But, I see it as a shake up, a wake up.  The discomfort is motivating once I get unstuck from the inertia. 

Last night, I pulled a big armchair up in front of the fireplace and watched the flames being pulled up into the flue by the constant stormy wind which continued to gather momentum outside.  Each angry gust of cold winter air brought the gift of energy to the revel it shared with the flickering heat, whose fiery embers cradled the wood with snapping intensity.  It reminded me of two people dancing the tango.....their individual vitality is fuel for expressing the passion of belonging.

It is what we all strive for.... that feeling of contentment, the comfort of silent stillness in the middle of the dancing flames of belonging.  It's emotionally stirring.  It's a fulfilled longing to be a part of the activity.  Fire only breathes by the air it is fueled.  Our breath, our spirit is what fuels our internal fire.

What I have learned and absorbed from Father's O'Donohue's inspiring writings and beliefs is immeasurable when it comes to helping me regain my footing during times when turmoil swims inside me.  The depth of his faith fuels my own wavering faith.

For some reason, I am a believer when I immerse myself in his lyrical heartfelt writings.  I'm not so afraid.  I'm not so worried about the mystery of death.....of whether there is a Heaven.....of whether God will be there to greet me......of whether we get to live again in some capacity, our souls re-emerging from the clay he so often writes about.  His wisdom and the way he was able to articulate it has always felt like a lullaby to my contorted spirit.  His deep faith is believable, which in turn has allowed me to let go of my tightly held anxieties and believe too.  Unclenched, I have been able to breathe more easily knowing that I am guided by a higher power. 

I don't know why, but I didn't return to his books while I stumbled through this latest soul upheaval..... I should've.  Maybe I would've slept better.   However, maybe I needed to sit in the fear on my own again for a while in order to let go even more of it.....?  Doubt is a wake up call........it's just that you WAKE up and find yourself surrounded by mean shadowy fangs....... eeewwwwww!  It's like living in the middle of the Blair Witch forest!

Today is the anniversary of this beloved man's death.  It is beyond sad and I know many of his dear friends and family are thinking of him and wishing he was still amongst us.  Since the time I was introduced to his writing, I have been struck by the thought that there is no one else I can think of whom I regret not meeting face to face.  There is a bit of a mystery as to why he has touched me more deeply than any other author except one other....Jean Vanier.  Timing played a role.  I was ready and open to receive their messages.  I was ready to be a student again.  But, there's more to it than that.  It just seems like the way he expressed himself, so genuinely and with such conviction somehow touched upon a lost chord stuffed deep inside me; so deeply embedded I had forgotten it had even existed.  That lost chord of mine is tied to understanding where I belong and why.

We are seekers at heart, knowing that when a sense of inertia weighs us down and tugs at our awareness, it is time to recognize the growing discomfort.  Father O'Donohue wrote........ "Our bodies know they belong; it is our minds that make our lives so homeless."  For a while, my mind felt homeless again.  This morning, it feels like it is settling amongst the essential elements of life again.  It began to happen while reading the last of the correspondance between Globe and Mail journalist Ian Brown and Jean Vanier.   It seems serendiptously written, for it has touched me exactly where I needed to be touched.  It has settled my rumblings to some extent.  They wrote about life and death...the student and the mentor as friends. When I reach this paragraph, I could feel the ground beneath my feet again.

"We are not pure or impure spirits, floating on clouds of acclaim. We are flesh, grounded and rooted in the earth. We need sleep and rest, work, good food with friends and lots of pleasure. We need disappointments, because they foster hope and renewal. Of course we muse over death.

It is not an accident that we die. We enter the world in the fragility of a baby and later decline into the fragility of the old person we will become. Fragility means needing to cry out, “I need your help, I need your love, I need you.” Fragility forms bonds of togetherness, community, friendship and peace."

Fragility..... this is how I've felt.  The questions and inner rumblings I have struggled with left me with a sense of fragility.  But instead of being afraid of that feeling, I realized through Vanier's faith driven response to Ian Brown's questions about death, that perhaps I should look at it through a different lens..... If I am feeling this way, and taking the necessary step to admit it, express it, own it, then I become more open to the blessings of love and friendship all around me.  I become a fragile vessel.  Maybe that's what we learn the most when we are grieving the loss of a loved one.  Maybe thats what we learn the most when we are struggling with our own fears of mortality? 

After reading the article,  I sat with a stillness I havent felt in a long time.  Then,  I picked up John O'Donohue's Eternal Echoes again and felt a sense that I was visiting a friend face to face.  It felt like a homecoming.   It felt like I was returning to a mindset of belonging again. 
________________________________

Here's is a link to a Youtube video of John O'Donohue.  Enjoy....!!!

clarity

rain soaked impressionism
through the windshield
from the driver's seat
Oct, 2009

Most days, clarity is an illusion steeped in mystical impressionism. Ah! But on some days, stark reality rattles bones and leaves a lingering echo reverberating deep into the baritone swell of the soul. This is when the desire of seeing an altar resplendently graced with Affirmation moves into a ripe longing. It can send you to your knees. Holy loneliness haunts until it is recognized as a transitional touchpoint.... an awakening epiphany. A fear of God moment? In all its reverential orchestration.

The thought I am pondering today as I picture what my preferred altar looks and feels like as I sit feeling the resonance of the cello playing inside me.....

Love always has a tinge of vulnerability to it. When it's real. When it rattles bones. When you give it. When you receive it.

Which leads me to wonder.........

Does God feel vulnerable too when He shares His love for real? How about when He feels your love for Him?

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....