the beauty of resilience.....

The other day while at the College, I was standing just outside a classroom quietly talking with a colleague just around the time the students took a break.  (I wonder why we don't call it recess at the College?)  A 25-ish year old student opened the door and stepped out right in front of me.  She was wearing a low cut tank top and jeans. Peaking out of her top were two elaborately designed tatoos of hummingbirds.  In flight. Larger than life. They looked like they were escaping from her breasts.  

Before I could stop myself and gather my sense of decorum, I exclaimed..... "Wow!  I love your hummingbirds! Those little birds fascinate me!" 

Luckily no one around me seemed to consider this a gaff and the student was thrilled that her "birds" were acknowledged.  My enthusiastic outburst  led to hearing the story behind her choice of tattoo. She came to life. Big smiley bright eyes!  Pleasantly surprised that I had even noticed.  I mean, how could one not notice??  The woman has brightly coloured hummingbirds flying out of her breasts and no one comments?  

Her choice of personal skin-art  was a tribute to her Dad who had passed away.  He had a backyard full of hummingbird feeders that lured the little beings to his home every summer.  He loved their vitality.  So does his daughter. 

Serendipitously,  I have been a bit obsessed with these tiny creatures of late because I have a few hummingbirds who have made my backyard their home this summer too.  During times when I've found a few moments to take a relaxing breath over a  morning cup of tea, or an end of the workday sigh, I have watched them with fascination and tried to capture their life essence in a poem. 

I find myself drawn to their energy as they flit and flummer, wings thrumming as fast as plane propellers, from one flower bloom to another seeking sweetness.  Did you know that a hummingbird lives on the tipping edge of dying?  Their full flight bursts exhaust their energy reserves so dramatically that they are constantly on the verge of starvation.  It makes sense.  They rarely stop!  Their busyness and focused determination to fill up their reserves with sugary sustenance seems to defy this fact. 

Hummingbirds exude excitable confidence. Inherently, they use their needle sharpe beaks to hone in on the blossom's soul where honeydrips await.  I watched one hover around a purple lilac with such purpose and focus. His irridescent wings and purple and green sheen body never stopped.   As it reached into every little bloom, I wondered if the little hummer felt like it had won the jackpot!  One flower head.  A thousand honey spots.

The other morning before it was time to head off to work, I sat on the side steps of my deck to enjoy my tea and the view of the river.  The weather this spring has been so wet and gloomy that when the sun manages to push away the grey clouds, there is a stronger sense of hopeful joy in the moment than if we had been blessed with better weather.  

Quiet and still..... grounded.  That's how I felt as I took in the sights and sounds of nature all around me. There was a chorus of songbirds harmonizing, communicating, expressing their truimphs and their love desires. Beautiful sounds!  As I listened,  I let the breeze spirits seep through me skin to let it replace my tiredness.  It felt like an awakening........a spa for the senses.   Then, I saw him.  This tiny speck of a being sitting right in the middle of the yellow clothesline in my neighbours backyard.  One little hummer with the line all to himself.  It was comical.  He looked like a B-flat note from a music chart.  One little note from a universal scoring.  

He didn't sit perfectly still.  Hummingbirds are hyperactive. But, for him, he was perched pretty darn quietly.  His wings had stopped.   Though he was too tiny to make his head do a "bob and weave" like you would describe if you were trying to capture the head movement in a larger species, he did make the same movement....  It was more of a tip and a flit as he scanned the yard like a Lord looking over his kingdom. Then, I heard his birdcall.  He somehow managed to project his voice above the louder tweets.  I heard him call out.  I'm HERE! 

It left me in awe....... It left me feeling as sense of kindredness with my backyard buddy.  My life is so busy.  For the  most part I like it that way. There are days though when the activities are survival ones.  Maybe not physically like the tiniest member of the bird family, but emotionally/spiritually.  On the tipping edge.  Then, I take a moment to sit on my rejuvenating steps to draw in the blessed goodness of my life.  

We have the gift of nature to be our mentor.  The life that unfolds with growth and determination all around us sends messages of importance life affirming learning.  All we have to do is pay attention and relate. 

The eagle teaches us to soar in freedom...... catching gust of wind under our own wings.  The robin shares many lessons about how to build a home, to protect and provide.  Mourning Doves live in love with their soulmates.  And the hummingbird?  He is the biggest gift of them all because he is the the mentor of resilience.  

There is beauty in the song of resilience.  No matter how ugly life can get we are all more beautiful because of our attempts at making it happen.  The key is to take the time to savour the honeydrips and to keep at it!

altering life's journey..........

It began with an early morning trip, one with a dappling of spontaneity, to a secret beach adorned with shiny shards of broken glass softened by the pull and the dawn of the tides.  This treasure was left to be discovered by three friends with pails on a seeking mission while taking a break from routine and over reaching ruminations of the tough side of life.  Actually, these two girlfriends of mine were on a mission to help me get through a very tough anniversary date.  I couldn't have asked for a better gift.  Their love and understand AND a beach full of sparkling glass destined to be an art project of some kind!   

Not only was it the anniversary of my marriage break up, it was the first day of Lent. Ash Wednesday.  Timely this Lenten season was this year.  In order to be by the shore when the tides were at their lowest, we left home before the sun was up and made it to our destination, after a non stop jabbery car journey, at 7 am.  We were greeted by two white tailed deer gracefully standing by a clump of trees that hung close to the water.  Peaceful beauty. Like a wink from God.

I had made the decision earlier to experience the momentum of Lent for the first time.  I had never allowed myself to take it on fully.  Always more comfortable standing on the outskirts of commiting to the formality of religion, I found myself this year with a desire to embrace it.  I guess that happens naturally when one finds themselves into the routine of attending church services regularly throughout the year.  My curiosity was piqued.  My sense of connection with a congretion was growing along with my desire to take a step closer into the circle of this community propelled me towards tasting the mystery of Lent.  

Ash Wednesday began along the Bay of Fundy shoreline inhaling the salt air, feeling the cold icy glare of the water, collecting the glass shards that held marine stories.   It was a morning I will not forget for a long time.  It filled me with kindred love, fresh air thoughts, a sense of adventure and one or two incredible moments that literally took my breath away.  

I am a water girl.............. healing happens by the shoreline.  So does the regeneration of my creativity.  So does the re-clarification of my thoughts and feelings.   So does the reflection of my life and where it may be headed.  It happens like an instantaneous miracle.

Lent.  Over the years, I have acknowledged it briefly with only the basic understanding of its symbolic meaning and reverential mystery.  On the surface, it always appeared to me as a dour and daunting day....... the beginning of giving up something meaningful in my life.  Of suffering. To give up was our human attempt to feel the suffering that Jesus experienced.  But, how can one really meet that level of suffering?  

My first immersion. I was eager.  It has always felt that I was sitting on the sidelines observing and half listening because it seemed too dauntingly religious.  Only the fully committed folks with unrattled faith seemed to take it on. Or so I thought.  Until I sat amongst a congregation who were invited to attend the service as a means to re-commit to "the"  journey.  That hit home. I was looking for a way to re-establish my footing again after a winter of reaching new heights and slipping down into dark crevices.  I wanted to seek some kind of balance but didn't really have any structure or parameters to make it happen.  It was given to me as a gift. 

After a gorgeous day at the beach, sharing lunch in a great diner, sipping on wine late in the afternoon as our way to stretch the holiday feel of the day, I headed to church to take part in the Ash Wednesday evening service.  Nothing could've prepared me for the beautiful intimacy, the divine feeling of connections and the spiritual presence that floated in and around everyone who attended.  This small group of independent pilgrims, all there for their own reasons, for their own curiosity, for their own desire to recommit to the journey were privileged to be a part of a service which literally left me grounded and determined to commit to being present for the whole season of Lent.   

The day began along the shoreline collecting beach glass and old pieces of pottery.........gifts with stories from the mysterious deepness of the ocean floor.  The day ended grounded in entering a story as eternal as the tides that pull and dawn every single day.   Yes, I recommited to a journey of faith that excited as well as intrigued me.  My steps were less tentative, and were very different than any other steps I had taken in the past.   

I left this magical service with new thinking as well as a decision to push the sorrowful walls of the past and the anxious walls of the future back in order to allow the space to live in the here and now with more breath and depth. Lent was going to be a journey of the unknown........... but one draped in the stories as old as the hills.  

To be continued................... 

eye candy

 

tempered blues wandsweeps 

candy coated creams

on canvas simmering in heat rising

from warm stretched limbs

aching to be touched.

colours awash in velvet sighs

surrender to daylight

slipping through cotton shifts

drifting in whisper breezes 

desired breaths in blossom slippers

a blended blur of feminine pinks

absorbs  the naked awe of attraction

.... A sensory feast in a haze of desire envelopes the wandering mind and places it on the threshold of a sanctuary where love resides. Twilight captivates with its alluring sashay into the secrets of the night........

across the waters.......it's so peaceful in here

I think I've discovered a new type of therapy.  Waterfalls Therapy.  Not the Niagara Falls kind..........the hidden in the woods, away from the world kind.  It's like finding treasure and serenity all rolled into one gift. 

Sometimes it takes a bit of exploring to find the falls, nestled secretly in the woods, out of view unless you know where to look.  But the journey is a part of the thrill of finding one of these treasures.  And in turn the first glimpse is guaranteed to put a smile on your face as well as the kind of child excitement that tickles you from your toes on up.

Our trek took us down a dirt road.  Initially, we walked too far because we were talking too much and missed the sounds we were supposed to be listening for.  When we turned back, we began to hear the rushing of water. Though we couldn't see the waterfalls from that angle, we took a chance and headed down a steep decline through the woods........taking it slowly and using the tree roots as footholds and branches as hand security.  As we made our way down, the view of the waterfalls came into sight.  It was gloriously cascading through a gorge which cut through the granite rock like a precision instrument and showered into an accumulating pool of cool, cool water.  The site was enough to take your breath away.

We made it down to the bottom of the falls, surrounded by the cliff gorge resplendent in pine and greenery ..... every single shade of green was present.  The sunlight filtered through the trees landing in patterns of its own making........ lighting various plants and ferns......... touching down on the moving water with a kiss of goodness.  With not another soul in sight, we had this little piece of heaven all to ourselves.  To say it was magical doesn't do it justice.   

A line from a Van Morrison song came to mind........ "This must be what paradise is like........it's so peaceful in here..." 

The irish have a term for that feeling when an acute sensory awareness of body, mind and soul merge into one.........when you feel that you are lifted up out of an ordinary life into an aura of enlightenment.  They refer to it as a "thin place."  You feel more alive and energized, but it is combined with an inner sense of calm that I can only describe as bliss.  When you reach this place the air is refreshingly oxygenated.  The more breaths you take, the more bouyant you feel. As your pores open up to receiving the happiness and hope floating all around you, it seems as though you reach a point where you believe anything is possible.  Anything is possible because you have been given the gift of inner completeness.

The feeling is fleeting......bliss never lasts.  But, the long term impact is life changing.  You enter a thin place, body mind and soul, and you are never the same again.  How can you be?  If you've tasted, touched, seen, heard and inhaled beauty, the lens with which you use to see your own world has shifted.  It reinforces one's belief in a Higher Power.  It offers you the best opportunity to slip a prayer into God's mailbox.  

You never ever forget the moment.  It is gratefully etched in memory.

On Canada Day, I quietly sat on a large rock in the middle of the woods halfway up a small gorge created by the flow of one river.  In front of me was an eternally cascading waterfall dropping down into a pool of water glistening in the morning sun.  Right beside me the water rushed past in rapid churning down to the bottom of the gorge where converged with another river forming swirling pools of water.   

The welcoming rumble tones soothed as well as exhilarated the thin air.........it's constant sound echoed off the granite walls in lullaby fashion, similar to the rolling in of tides.  I had no desire to move. In fact the whole multi-sensory experience allowed me to relax into a meditative repose of being placed right in the moment where time releases itself.  

Unburdened by all of the responsibilities and constraints of daily life, I sat in bliss.  In front of nature's altar, beside the rushing water, bliss kissed me.  And all the air went thin......... leaving me in a place of awakening I will return to in mind and body as often as I can this summer.

 Herman Hesse wrote, "Within you there is a stillness and a sanctuary to which you can retreat at any time and be yourself."  When you've experienced, JUST ONCE, the holiness of thinness, you have been given the key to finding that inner retreat again.  

The moments when you are captured inside a thin place may be fleeting, the sense of wonder nestles deep into our hearts where they glisten like prayerful gems, which reflect a dawning comprehension only felt when we are touched by God's grace.  Our lives are far more enriched when we are receptive to the possibility of this experience because I truly believe these may be our best attempt at understanding the mystery. 

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........"

wonder never looked so beautiful

When early evening stirs secrets of tangled sorrows wrapped in blessings, a rainbow forms  from a delightful cloud frontier.  Spontaneous smiles replace woeful fatigue.  The sun returns home in time to dance its last jig.  

Sometimes miracles are difficult to glean with the naked eye.  They are tucked away in hiding spaces and it takes such effort to seek them out.  

Sometimes, however, they radiate just beyond our touch but close enough for us to see them so clearly.  Miraculous fluidity arcing up into the dramatic sky, rainbows carry dreams woven in the fabric of reality.  They leave you speechless and smiling like a crazy person blessed by the magic of the emerging wild. 

These photos were shot by my daughter Martha who stood standing in awe on our back deck.  Wonder never looked so beautiful.  Do you see the flock of geese in the picture below?  Stunning.

Thank you Martha..... you are my beautiful wonder. 

lost in discovery.... always a good thing.

Yesterday, my daughter and I walked along a path through the woods together, both carrying our cameras. Everyone else was way ahead of us in no time. Knowing what we were up to, they left us to amble at our own pace.

As we
stopped and pondered....
visually framed and reframed....
found unique light and angles...
attempted to capture a feeling, a mood
enjoyed quiet peace,
we shared our growing interest in photography and nature.

Lost in discovery together.

What always amazes me is how a shared walk can look, feel and be experienced so differently. I guess it just depends on the lens you use to see through.

Tonight, Martha posted a few of her photos on her blog, from our walk through the woods up on Keswick Ridge. Her ability to capture a feeling..... a mood is a gift. Her ability to confidently design visual collages of life stories like its a simple thing to do always makes me smile. At age 16, Martha is finding her own path...... and it is a beautiful one indeed.

Please check out her blog and let her know what you think of the photos she chose to post. Though I am biased of course, I think you'll like them. Besides, we all know how much a little encouragement (besides from her parents!) has the potential to stretch beyond the horizon.....

thanks.

ps...the photo above was taken by a friend.

home....

We are 142 years old today.

Every year there seems to be more and more Canadian patriotic paraphenalia out there in consumer land for our purchasing pleasure most of which makes me laugh...especially the Moose motif stuff. Gotta love our gangly Moose.

My son and I were in the local dollar store the other day to stock up on a few of these items so he can take them to Costa Rica when he attends a CISV village in late December and use them as traders with the other kids who will be there from around the world. We stood in front of the HUGE display which ranged from hilarious hats shaped like leaves to dancing beavers, maple leaf key chains, tatoos, frisbees, squishy footballs, stuffed moose, neck ties (FOR A BUCK!) and were in fits of laughter over the tackiness of the lot. Of course, we were determined to grab the best kitsch we could. Let's hope he's allowed through customs with that Canuck craziness in his suitcase.

When I was a kid, the annual fireworks were lit on Victoria Day in May. This was the tradition. We all saw it as the beginning of summer.....the first long weekend. Of course as members of the Commonwealth, we all understood the seriousness of celebrating Queen Victoria's birthday in style.....er, I guess...... by blowing off little checker firecrackers and running around with abandon holding onto a sparkler, also known as a piece of wire on fire.

Though we still have the long weekend in May, and the Monday of it is still recognized as her birthday (funny how it changes dates every year). But, somewhere along the line, our country's fireworks celebration moved to July 1rst, Dominion Day.....the day we recognize as the anniversary of our national status within the Commonwealth. Maybe we switched because it was easier to make a cake in the form of a maple leaf flag than the head of a sexually inhibited sourpuss? Or maybe we began to embrace our own sense of pride, separate from another country?

Obviously it wasn't an overnight thing.....one day we scoured at any display of patriotism and the next day we adorned our homes in all things red and white? No. It was a gradual, albeit swift turn around. Even now, I would wager a bet that most Canadians feel an attachment to this vast and magnificent wilderness we call home more so when we cross its borders? But there is definately a different feel to our celebration of our "home and native land...." Hence, the desire to don a goofy leaf pointed hat, pull on a Moose motif t-shirt and go with the flow of our known sense of humour while sucking back a few pints and singing off key?

Did you know Canadians are a very funny lot? Absurdity is in our blood. Satire swims all around us. We crack each other up! And it turns out we do a pretty good job exporting our finest comedians. I think it has to do with choosing to remain on this freakingly cold tundra in February and go about our daily routines like it was just a little irritation to start your car when its -40 degrees and a wind chill? You gotta LAUGH! You gotta bundle up too or you will die!

Then of course there is a that wonderful myth created by the late Pierre Berton who stated that you know you're Canadian when you can make love in a canoe. Ask any Canadian if they've accomplished this feat and they will affirmatively reply, with a sly smile and a look in their eye that tells you..... wouldn't you like to know how this is done? Ah, its all in the balancing between the thwarts. Its in the melodic movement of the gunnels....its how you hold your paddle.... Is there any other country who defines their patriotism through such a lens? We crack each other up.

There are definately benchmark events which foisted us forward into a more contented place. It wasn't so long ago when our national past time was a collectively navel gaze..... where the cry of the "True north strong and free" wasn't an anthem we now sing loudly at sports event and instead was "Who are we? How are we different than our neighbours to the south? How do we define ourselves...." Such nervous nellie self absorption is finally disappearing. We have grown up a bit. We've won our fair share of international hockey tournaments. We gave the world Celine and Shania.

Dominion Day. In 1982, the same year the Canadian Constitution and Charter of Rights was signed, Dominion Day was renamed Canada Day. Hindsight makes me wonder if this was the turning point. Before this significant moment, maybe we were allowing someone else to make our beds? Whatever caused us to stop feeling so damn inferior and to care so much about that fact that the rest of the world doesn't really give a rat's ass about our identity, I'm glad. Why? Because what matters most is how we have come to terms about our own selves as multi cultural individuals who call this place home. The confidence felt is new to us. But it will be our growing confidence along with the accumulative stretch marks from eating the most recent national food concoction...."poutine...." (dont ask! it's gross! I'd rather smoke pine needles) that will allow us to shine on any international stage. Or not.

When I was 18 years old, I flew across the pond for the first time with a backpack on my back and a much searched for Canadian flag patch stitched on the outside of it. I had to look high and low for it. For one thing, there were no dollar stores around, and I didn't live in the middle of a tourist hotspot like Niagara Falls where touristy kitchy gift shops were at every corner. It was a different time. Patriotism was kept under wraps. Patriotism was frowned upon as a tacky display of emotional wanking best left to the flag waving country below the 49th parallel. But, I found one, and proudly sewed it onto my backpack. And I'm glad I did. Because every time someone saw that little flag, they would ask me questions about my home....my country, and I would have to think about how I would describe it's beauty, it's strength, it's people......its history.

Like many of my neighbours, we learned our patriotism....and our heart filled fondness for Canada by leaving it's borders and looking from a far. At age 18, I began to see just how lucky I was to proudly state that I am a Canadian. Though, it was said in a tentative whisper compared to my open flag waving loud anthem singing boldness of today. OH, who am I kidding?? I may be wearing my very best moose t-shirt today, and I will definately take part in some of the Canada Day celebrations this afternoon down on the beautiful Green along the Saint John River. Fireworks are in the plans after a big potluck at a friend's house. But, when it's time to sing O Canada? My boldness will quickly evaporate and my silly red pointed leaf hat will be lifted off my head. My heart will fill with gratitude.....and I will lose my way in the meaning of the words. I'm too much of a softie...... and our anthem always leaves me choked up and in tears much to the embarrassment of my family. It's a good thing they're used to it.

This place I call home......? I loveitloveitloveit.....

Happy Canada Day.....with a glowing heart from me

traces.....

• 

  Patterns of footprints layered under pine rich loam, left as a collective trace of shared repast. how many meals were share in this one spot?

• Exuberant voices captured by the limb awning above, stored like ancestral linen in a hope chest unfolded and spread out in remember whens.......

• How many have sat at that worn old picnic table surrounded by the sturdiness of the white pine and gazed out at the lake on a perfect summer day?
• how many have sat up late into the hot night drinking a beer with a friend, listening to the loon in the distance.....
• how many kids knelt on the benches, their fingers covered in white gooey glue and paint as they whiled away an afternoon creating popsicle stick cabins with wonky roofs and broken stick picket fences?
• a solitary early morning riser, hot coffee in hand......journal and pen. she watches another person paddle close along the shoreline lost inside a quiet reverence.....
• two in love, tucked in beside one another on the same side watching the sun go down as they shared their tentative confessions.....hoping time sleeps
• carved hearts and intials whittled into the repainted wood lasting traces connecting to the memory of scented pine
• silly songs, card games, laughter............lots of laughter echos and bounces back off the old branches of the giving trees.

Seasons come and go stretching over generations of footprints in the pine rich loam.....layers of traces mixed into the clay connections. It makes me want to sit down quietly to add my own to the memories left behind, and to listen to the joy nestled under the canopy.

no trace camping? there's no such thing.

come sit with me

lets slow down the day

lets escape the outside world rush

can you hear the loon? Ah, the lonely call beckons

nature's jewels

At the end of the summer when all the other berries have long ripened, before the apples grow red hanging from their branches on the trees, these deep purple jewels make their appearance. Under the shade of the prickly vines which wrap around the alders, they congregate in small cathedrals of their own making. Away from sight, away from sunlight, they gather their tart sweetness from earth's moisture. Quietly and with no fanfare, these glistening plump candy grow heavier in succulence waiting to be discovered and consumed.

Or not! Maybe they don't want to be found. Maybe they are just fine ripening and surrendering their goodness back into the hallowed earth, letting their juice seep back to where it originallycame from. Far from showy, they remain protected behind scratchy stinging burrs and thorns in places where no paths have been tramped down. Perhaps they are quite content in their quiet role in nature....

It is only the brave explorer, who chooses to don full body covering, half a can of bug spray, and boots to muck about in who will forge into unchartered territory to enjoy these mouth watering treats freshly picked off the vines. And it is the brave blackberry lover, scratched up and bug bitten in their efforts to find the perfect offering who knows where these reverential jewels dwell who knows the quiet untouched groves they settle in.

In a quiet whisper, so as not to disturb their beauty, the gatherer tugs tenderly on the discovered jewel allowing it to slip gracefully into her hand and gently into her mouth letting its skin bursting fragrance awaken her taste buds.

All good things come to those who wait.


This week's photo theme is Edible. For most mouth watering offerings, check out Carmi's blog.

Late morning on Grand Lake Road....

".....being attentive to the times of the day: when the birds began to sing, and the deer came out of the morning fog, and the sun came up. The reason why we don't take time is a feeling that we have to keep moving. This is the real sickness. We live in the fullness of time. Every moment is God's own good time, His kairos. The whole thing boils down to giving ourselves in prayer a chance to realize that we have what we seek. We don't have to rush after it. It was there all the time, and if we give it time, it will make itself known to us."

Thomas Merton

On the way back to my office, I took the road less travelled along the shore of Grand Lake where the summer cottages were all tucked in and closed up until the thaw. No one else was on the snow covered road. It was just me and the sweet music which surrounded me with smiling life. The big evergreens, their brances laden in white stood stoically while the sun filtered down through the spaces between them. Music inside my van, silence in the hibernating outdoors.

At one point, you drive through a cathedral of tall pine which encloses the road on both sides. They stand tall and straight like a welcoming line of well wishers, so close that the sun has few cracks to penetrate its light through. I always feel like I should slow right down as I drive along as a way of saluting back to these trees. And as I slowed down, I was struck by the beauty of the sun filtering through the branches. I stepped out of the car, away from the music and stood in the middle of the empty road....in silent reverence. I didn't want to leave.

"I will rise now...."

I waited for the sunrise this morning and was disappointed to see the day emerge void of life affirming colour. Clouds full of snow threatening to drop down on the landscape seemed to cloak the sky's breath and depth of possibilities. Omnipresent like a sneering bully on the playground, they hovered....arms crossed, immovable and bossy!

I walked away, determined to ignore it's wintry threats and began to focus my attention on slipping into the beauty of the imagination where the spectrum of possibility perches on the precipice of eternity. Over a cup of tea of course. Imagination and tea are happy partners in generating thoughts and feelings. No cloudy bully was going to break my spirit! HA! Not when I had a steaming mug of tea by my side.....especially when the mug, purchased on my trip to the UK, has a quote by Billy Connolly printed on the side of it....(love that man!)

"Never trust a man who, when left alone in a room with a tea cosy, doesn't try it on...."

OK.....imagination, tea and a twisted need for a sip of the absurd....my ingredients to bite back at the bully clouds....to see the world around me with a new set of eyes.

Pretty soon, I swear I heard Bono singing in my head....a beautiful backdrop to my own imagination fueled by my happy tea mug. Like a whoosh, I was pulled into it's orchestration. The music memory awakened expressed love like the opening of Solomon's Song of Songs.... it's breeze clearing way for enlightening. Ah......love's stirring yearnings....

My spirit automatically lifted. Amazing how the harmonious blend of lyrics and sound can do that, even if it's a memory playing just to yourself. Sure there are days when dirges can fill the spirit if you let them. Today, however, there seemed to be no need to push any sorrowful tunes away. Bono was prayerfully present to stir my thoughts! With my eyes closed absorbing the words, the sound and my feelings, I smiled and took a couple of meditative breaths....

It's a beautiful day

Don't let it get away

It's a beautiful day

Touch me

Take me to that other place

Teach me

I know I'm not a hopeless case

I looked up and out the window again. Day had broken without the cresting colour just above the horizon. That time had come and gone. Instead, it had patiently held onto its empowering beauty, joined forces with the words of the wind and braided its luminescence through the bullying clouds. Shadows and light tasting colour seeped out its drama, like a life living its dramatic score.

Still in my sexy red plaid flannel pyjamas, I exchanged my cozy slippers for my furlined boots, slipped on my big woolen coat, grabbed my camera and headed out the door into the crisp coldness of a January morning. A fresh layer of snow cleansed the salt and sand on the street. The front yards covered by knee deep powder reflected the new light of day, it's shadows forming in the windswept drifts. The winter nesting birds warbled their own welcoming sound.

I felt alive and connected to my part of the world......alone standing in the middle of my street.....I enjoyed the unveiling of a beautiful day. Let the drama begin.

Snowy Solstice....as planned?

While the wine in my cup formed ice crystals, I stood close to the winter solstice fire, its sparks crackling up into the snowy air and spoke to the person huddled beside me about reiki healing. I was quite interested in this man's journey to becoming a reiki master.....the whys and hows........my unsaturated curiosity piqued by wanting to know about energy, about interconnecting through intuitiveness. And all the while I'm learning more about a process of touch therapy without laying hands I'm thinking of how cool it was to be having this discussion in the middle of a snowstorm, while celebrating an ancient seasonal, celestial transition.

It never fails. There are always interesting conversations around a campfire....whether it's in the middle of winter or on a sunkissed beach.....the fire pulls people in and offers a dreamy opening to share without conditions.

Others roasted apples, sang songs, and warmed their hands on our blazing fire while huddling close. I jumped in from time to time to add my voice to the open air harmony. At one point, I looked over and watched my children surrounded by their friends enjoying the all ages celebration of life and love and belonging. It warmed me to my core. The snow may have seemed like a hampering obstacle for many that night, but it acted as a means of cocooning with people we share much of our lives with.

Our clothes captured the smokey essence of pine, birch and ash offerings. It is an aroma which lingers far beyond the moment and I love it. We didn't know how much the blizzard had moved onto "the ridge.".... the location of our party. So we carried on like fools in need of adventure. Fireworks blasted through the flakes, filling the close sky with oddly summer colours. Oooo's and Ahhhh's reminiscent of Canada Day slipped out of our collective chatter. Fireworks amidst the furious flakes is highly recommended! As soon as it was over, someone threw more wood onto the fire and our attention pulled back to the flames.

Eventually, we returned to the house ready to pack up and head out for home early. Plans changed drastically however when we pulled out of the long driveway and onto a completely whited out country road. You couldn't see a damn thing including any semblance of a road. And before we knew it, we retraced our path in reverse (there was no place to turn around) and joined the warm happenings inside. Song and wine poured as we huddled comfortably inside while the blizzard bellowed. The kids settled into borrowed pyjamas and the excitement of a massive sleepover ......

A little after midnight as the wind howled, 4 of us along with 3 dogs bundled up and headed out to the snow covered road to walk down the road to another friend's house where more beds were available and others who had left earlier were waiting for us. All of the kids were tucked in for the night in the Beckley household.....safe and warm and loved and tickled they were in the middle of an adventure.

Almost a foot of snow had already fallen and no end was in sight. We trundled and trudged together, following a track left by some crazy person who had been on the road in a their pickup. The snow came down in a fury with a stinging bite from the whipped up wind, nipping your face like nettles. The conditions were frightening, but the sense of adventure hiking into a maritime winter storm was a tingling affirmation of life. We all felt it. Nature can be so humbling I thought as we turned off the abandoned road and down the driveway where a warm woodstove, and irish cream beckoned. I have never experienced a walk like that before and thanked God I wasn't all alone. It was so bleak in its isolation. The whole landscape was a monochromatic void of life, except the 4 crazy people looking for a bed. I was glad it wasn't a manger waiting at the end of the journey.

........We slept through most of the power outage last night.....

The storm left the area under a thick blanket of snow......the country and the city both were at a standstill for a day as everyone dug out. A white Christmas in the Maritimes is a guarantee....and.............

Today, our days begin to get longer. The very thought makes me hopeful.

ps. I was also told that the light around me indicates I should learn reiki..........turns out my internal "energy" is conducive for healing. hey, I've got that going for me as I head into 2009. Who needs a candle to light the way when one has a blue light aura to plug into?

tonic for her clenched soul

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

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

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

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


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


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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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


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

la lumiere de soleil

November's golden luminosity bathes the landscape in a fragrant breath of regal knowing. Amber light warms the stark reality caught in the branch spaces of newly naked birch. You can almost hear the sigh in the lost suppleness of youth as it stretches towards the softening glow. Shadows and reflections empower the landscape like a Vermeer masterpiece.

Autumn evenings bend early into fleeced capes draped on shoulders and wool socks on summer sandaled feet. Streetlights reflect the slowing down loneliness of empty streets, glistening in rain soaked leaves, the last to fall from the trees. There is an essence of a sombre drama found in a black and white late night movie born from days past. Aromas steeped in pipesmoke sweetness waft and blend with the bayberry candles flickering on the mantle. As the sun slips out of sight, a recognizable balladeer fills the night with baritone longing.......

The birds they sang

at the break of day

Start again

I heard them say

Don't dwell on what

has passed away

or what is yet to be.

Ah the wars they will

be fought again

The holy dove

She will be caught again

bought and sold

and bought again

the dove is never free.

Ring the bells that still can ring

Forget your perfect offering

There is a crack in everything

That's how the light gets in.

This week's thematic photography prompt is autumn.........for more photos and thoughts, check out another famous Montrealer......... Carmi