you win some....

 a cross of limbs

But you might get lucky now and then

You win some, you might get lucky now and then

You win some

 Mark Knopfler, Get Lucky

I have learned to find stillness inside my core.  Not all the time.  When I need to seek it. Music guides me there. With its soothing melodic sound, I allow it to surround me like a warm comforting shawl wrapped around my whole body. Soft earthy colours that gently touches my senses but doesn't impede my freedom to allow life's hymns to penetrate my flesh. In fact, it seems to do the opposite.  It opens me up to receiving the flow of thought and feeling as I breathe.  Accompanied by candlelight clarity and ancient hymns, I have learned to seek out a relaxed sanctuary where I can embrace vulnerability with a sense of soul safety.  

Sometimes, I don't have to set up my own little chapel of stillness.  Sometimes, it finds me when I'm least expecting it or when I need it the most..... when the sounds of my world resemble clashing cymbals, offbeat noise generated by loud obnoxious fumes generated from life out of hand.  Ringing in my ears.  Ringing in my soul.  I've learned to recognize those off kilter moments, especially if I am physically and/or emotionally spent, and do something about it.  Then, I gather my outgoing energy and turn it inwards.  Just for a brief respite until I can reach the end of a stressful, busy, loud noisy day when I can snuggle into the comfort of the shawl for a longer period of time.  It makes me smile as I write this. Regeneration. 

Paradoxically, it's a process of regaining some control of what is allowed to penetrate me and what I long to release by letting go of the controls.  Recently, I learned itt's a form of centring.  Integrating head and heart with something far deeper and mysterious in the core of my soul.  That is where the guiding light is.  Down this dark shadowy tunnel, a guiding light awaits.  Its glow awakens calm, courage, clarity.  Its glow invites resolution by letting you safely look deeply into the place where tears are made.  Not the ones that flow down cheeks. These soultears are the ones that weep into muscles and bones.  They touch upon the tension and untie the bruising knots that stiffen the body and mind.  Just by breathing.  Alone.  In candlelight clarity.  Inside ancient hymns.  Healing happens.

Since I'm not a person prone to following directions or rules, my drummer beats to its own cadence.  In the summer, I sat outside on my back deck under the stars surrounded by the warm wafting breeze, enraptured by the fireflies while listening to music.  Sometimes I had a hot mug of tea close by.  Sometimes I poured myself a glass of crisp white wine to sip on.  Behind me, music would play out of the speakers, filling the air around me with loving familiarity.  A whole evening would slip away as I sat in peace, allowing the thoughts and feelings transfer in and out of my consciousness as I listened to a few selected CD's.  One of them was Mark Knopfler's, Get Lucky.  This fall, I misplaced the CD.  I don't have a clue where it went because I never took it outside of the house.  Mysteriously, it disappeared and it has bothered me that I have lost my copy.  Since then, I have found other pieces of music..... some classical, some traditional choir music..... some jazz melodies.

Memories, ideas, beautiful faces from the past, fears, grief, gaps of wondering if I would ever find the answers.  It helped me to immeasurably learn that not only are there many important situational events in life that have no resolution, it doesn't matter if you just let go of their hold on you. Ah, but then there were moments of clarity when the messages reached me........ of how blessed I am.  How loved I am.  How contented I felt.  How you win some.  How letting those tears hiding inside the soul come alive when the light is shone on them. 

This gift I have been given first revealed itself over a year ago when I attended the Greenbelt festival and found myself exhausted and jittered with stressy complications walking into an ethereal feeling room called Soulspace.  I wrote about the experience, here, here and here.  (I had a lot to say!  It was so new to me that I wanted to capture its full essence....)  Yes, I had to fly across the deep Atlantic pond to find a way to stillness!  I am forever grateful because it has been my companion, my guide, my way of resolving the pain and hurt I have felt during my marriage break-up more than any other activity.  It was only this fall though that I learned while at a writing/meditation retreat that what I had been practising was a formal way of praying!  And to think I thought I was moving to an original beat! Of course it is a process tied into the school of the eternal. 

So, why do I bring it up this morning....... a seemingly typical November day that is about to welcome daylight in shades of grey?  It has been a while since the music from my summer moments sitting out in warm healing breezes under the stars returned.  But, when I open my eyes, I swear I could hear it playing...... you win some........ you might get lucky now and then........ you win some........ Knopfler's reliable voice was playing in my psyche.  Needless to say, I awoke calm.  I awoke with a smile on my face of memories of stillness... of sitting alone but never feeling alone.  

No need to seek out the place of centring.  It found me.  Its a part of me now.  Symbolically, this is truly a good thing.  Because this morning, I will meet the person who has played a key role in the pain and grief I am gradually to let go of.  For the first time, I will meet a stranger who already is meaningful in my life journey, who has altered it in ways I never predicted.  Revisiting the music and stillness I gravitated to last summer has set me up with a sense of readiness for this encounter.  It will allow me to express myself in a manner that has a tone of forgiveness towards a human being and not the ugly monster I had conjured up in my head.   All the nasty accusations have disappeared from my internal conversations....... I'm ready to be human to another human.

Healing comes under different shawls of comfort.  Healing comes when stillness leads you to the internal light that shines on a place where tears are made.  Healing comes when you feel the breath of God in every breath you take, knowing you're not alone.  Healing comes when the hymns of life transform the energy from the outside zip to the inside stories unfolding.  It's soul work.  Not easy.  It was the hardest work I've ever done...pushing through all of those raging feelings, learning how to pray in my own manner.  But, now that I am capable of it, I'm free.  And lucky.

Ps. By the end of the day, I will have another copy of that CD! 

imagine

Imagination, be it friend or foe is the firelight that beams into your soul.  It is the necessary tool to be able to expand on a raindrop of an idea.  It can also turn one teardrop into a puddle big enough to splash around in.

Our imagination carries us beyond the mind by inviting us to enter through passageways of possibilities.  It is the sweetening of wonder.  It is the booster juice of inspiration.  It is the fuel injection required to unblock and unleash the musings wandering aimlessly in the galaxy, motioning them to formulate creatively. 

Sometimes that curious imagination finds out things before you're even ready to go there.  It thrives on questions and various "what if" scenarios and turns them into wicked flights of fantasy where wishes upon wishes transform into a multi-sensory carnival of dreams just waiting for you to unleash your inhibitions, doubts and fears so you can replace them with passionate exploration.  If you allow your imagination to run freely you may find yourself on a ride you never knew existed, or you thought was beyond your reach.  But, if you can imagine it can you then transform it into something tangible and real?  Can an illusion ever be held in the palm of your hands?

Imagination dips itself into the well of mystery........... oh, how it LOVES a good mystery.   Feed it with pieces of life puzzles and it folds itself into a hideaway nook to savour ever single tasty morsel.  Be careful of the stings.  Be prepared for some surprising feelings.......for our imagination often has a unique way of rebuilding the puzzle.  It may not be how you want it to look, sound, feel like.  It may be dangerously painful.  It may distort the lines of reality all the while trying to convince you of its honesty.  Sometimes our self created imagery will carry us into a sinkhole of doubting dialogue and with one full swoop, send you far away from any comfort you have carefully tucked in all around you.

At times it seems almost impossible to rein in our expansive fabrications.  We start spiralling down into a tunnel, haunted by memories and prickly pain only to land with a thud inside a chamber of horrific thoughts?  Why do we allow ourselves to go there?  Do we need to experience the dark side reality of our imagery in order to eventually let go of it?  Is this where we kick and kick until we bleed daylight?

Maybe the travels we take down the side of the mountain where the sun doesn't shine forces us to wrestle the truth from the sticky goo of falsehoods.  Maybe its all a part of learning from our sorrows. Maybe it allows us to ask the question.... "IS this the truth?  Is what I'm thinking the truth?"

Most days, I embrace my imagination and allow it to lead me beyond the wild.  I love the fact that my mind is an endless babbling two way conversation with ideas rich with possibilities.  On days when it is my friend, I can float on optimism and hope.  I can plan productively, think clearly, sharpen my view of what could possibly be beyond the horizon.  Its those other days when the it feels more like a noose around my soul and all I can hear is the same dialogue.... the same song over and over again. It's an obsessive mantra full of failure and rejection, cascading over a waterfall of tears. 

My imagination can lead me to an open beach with life affirming salty breezes where I feel loved and at one with this glorious world all around me, but it can also steer me into a abandoned alley reeking in human waste.  No matter how hard I try to avoid those stinking alleyways, sometimes its just impossible. 

Yesterday, I made it to the beach.  Just in time.   The singing sands beach in Souris, Prince Edward Island.  I had it all to myself.  I made the sands sing as I walked along the shore.  These sands are famous for their singing.  And when I returned to the car to head back to Charlottetown, my toes were still humming........ my friendly imagination was returning.  The noose was loosening.  Though my sense of failure and rejection still rattles inside me.  The shock of hasn't worn off yet. My raw anger has not floated away.......yet. 

_______________________

ps..... so many good things have happened to me over the past two months, and a few very funny things too.  I havent had much time to write these days, and long to.  I hope I will be able to capture some of the lighter parts soon........... Just have to find the stillness in me to start, write and complete a piece all in one sitting.  Its seems impossible right now.  Stillness is a fleeting wave  .......

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.

emotion motion........

I  have vowed not to use this venue as a dumping ground of vindictive thoughts and feelings as I plough through the reality that is my life at the moment.   It's too public, and it's just not right.  There's enough nasty mean mind pollution out there on blogs and websites.  It's also too permanent, and as we all know, feelings are fleeting.  

Know that I'm feeling deeply, pouring through the fear and sadness the best I can, and trying to learn from them.  I am doing this through much guidance of family and friends and through my own time alone.  I have sought out counselling for myself and serendipitously have connected with someone whom I will be meeting with in time to learn how to harness the gifts I have in new ways.  I am writing on the side, getting the BIG MONSTERS out of me so I can see them with my own eyes.   And I'm doing this knowing that I may not be protected as much as I would like to be from God, but I am fully supported.  My faith grows.  My understanding of myself and others grows.  And believe me, it's bloody draining!!!

Though some feelings wear out their welcome and stay around like a houseguest whose turned into an unwanted roommate, we must process them ..........read them, reflect on them.........look underneath them.  If we don't, they EAT us up inside and cause untold physical and spiritual damage.  

See them as helpful!! They are flags waving inside us.  Their purpose is to communicate messages we need to  listen to.  They help us move towards solutions, and teach us more about ourselves than we even want to know!  Emotional Literacy is all about recognizing the ticks and the tocks all the while giving them a name.    Emotional Literacy is all about allowing the feelings to stretch us into a place of discomfort so that we can soak in their motion and function.  So we can learn and grow.  They change us even if we fight the change.  

Yesterday, I sunk to a new low.  It was dreadful.  It didn't scare me, though I'm sure it frightened others.  I knew I had to sit right in the middle of it and FEEL or I would not move forward in the grieving that my heart and soul is experiencing.  I lashed out too.  In anger. I sounded like a sailor on a bender.  It's a strange feeling to be so deeply sad and angry at the same time.  The pain hurts.  It leaves scars.  It leaves new learning.  It leaves you vulnerable in the knowledge that no matter what, no one can take them away.  If you don't feel them, they turn inward and form a calcified crust of bitterness around your heart.  Then, you can't fully love or trust again.  I don't want that.  I want the opposite of that!!!!   

My counsellor told me................. tears are strength.  Its the first time I have heard that before, and it's the opposite message we have all been told.  The more I consider it, the more I agree with her.  As much as crying and tears are so tiring and messy, once you blow your nose, wash your face, throw away the snotty kleenexes, and have a nap all rolled up in a fetal position, you do feel stronger afterwards.  Pretty traumatic way to gain strength, but there you go.  Let the tears flow!!

When one is fragmented inside because of accumulated pain, or of chronic denial of the hurts, the truth eventually spits out in various ways.  Anxiety, depression, addictions, sexual outlets..... these are all examples of how the fragments pierce through the skin.   We seek out unhealthy avenues as temporary salve rather than mercy and salvation.  Sometimes our personal issues and history seems just so magnified and monumental.  Where do you start??  The point is NOT to figure out WHERE you start.  The point is just STARTING.  Anywhere.  With the first feeling that you claim.  Start there!!

In counselling, we never begin at the beginning...... rarely do I hear a "Once upon a time..." start in a session. Rather, the individual sitting across from me jumps into a story right in the middle of life.  It's like a tip of the iceberg and the more we converse, the more the story expands into the past and out beyond hopes and dreams.  More often than not, the "issue" does not even resemble the original starting point.  It takes a while to get to the raw truth.  You have to be ready for it, and find comfort that you are being heard before you share it.  Plus, you have to dig into the heart mine yourself before you may even KNOW what the issue is.  Rarely are the real reason for feeling the BIG MONSTER feelings float up to the surface on their own.  We are masters of cloaking them in coping mechanisms.

I want to be whole again and I will.  The only way I know how to do this is to be honest with myself. I will continue to find the strength through my blessed friends and family, through my writing, talking, walking, reading, through expressing myself as broadly as I can, through my tears as well as laughter.  If I do all of that with as much courage as I can, and with the truth to guide me, I know I will find a new place that will be as enchanted as this place used to be.  Maybe more so.  Along the way, I will stop and count my blessings because there are many!  I am grateful.

If I empty myself of those debilitating feelings and let them topple onto the ground to mix with the clay of all souls, my cup of life will be ready to be filled .  I want room in that cup for possibilities.  I just have to be patient and not move so quickly.  If I move to quickly, I topple to the ground myself. 

Perhaps that's where I need to be from time to time, on the ground mixing with the clay of all souls.  It's the best I can do...   Just like you. Just like you.  We are no different you and I. Feelings are universal.

furious angels

On those days when darkness covers the world around you, then somehow slips under your skin when you're not paying attention, you find yourself counting shadows instead of sheep.  Contented dreams remain out of reach. Calm is peppered by a hideous invasion of internal noises.  Shadows can be loud visitors.  They don't lovingly bleat like sheep and happily hop back over the fence. Instead, they stick around hovering under your breath until you begin to fall into night's bottomless cavern.

one,

two,

three,

four......

Shadows resemble a chorus of fear, accompanied by the looming rhythm of your own heartbeat. Regular pathumps intensify to a loud drumming of dread.  These pulsing disturbances push you past any realm of comfort to a suffering soul place. You're struck hard by the acute realization that you come from dust, and that no matter how hard you try... no matter how long you seek out relief through a solution, the fact is what it is. All suffering is simply a version of coming face to face with mortality. 

five ......................................................... six

seveneightnineteneleven

The din continues, ...... a nagging rapture of furious angels leap out from the shadows to summon your drumming heart. A blurring flurry of fussy wings thresh, summoning awareness that all you've ever known is not enough....that what you're struggling with cannot be fixed by your combative ego .... that the reins you've held onto so tightly for control have to be released.  When it feels as though the air can't be any darker, when the hum of angels hit a crescendo making the shadows dance like they have won, surrendering is the only option.  

Just when you're about to let go of any form of faith you have, your hands automatically turn upward with plea in your heart.  To stop the flight of furious angels.  You've heard their message.  It is then and only then that you have opened up wide enough to let in the light of God. .... to ask for His guidance.  

May you stay right there amongst the dancing shadows, the frenzied angels, and the pain of suffering until you can hear an answer to your prayer.  Don't let your ego get in the way. 

the fear and loathing decade....

For some reason, I completely missed the fact that we are about to hit a New Years milestone.  It took being surrounded by year end lists, when i realized a whole decade had scampered by.  Could that be?  Has it really been 10 years since we all fretted over a massive Y2K meltdown that was supposed to trample over the wires and ways of computer technology?  I guess so.  Gee, I still had a little one in diapers back then, and now he's out of my arms, having travelled to Costa Rica to attend a month long international village for 11 and 12 year olds!  I also had a little girl who rarely left my side and clung to me like a baby Koala.  Now, she's juggling work and school and her network of friends. 

I've been driving backwards since I learned that we're about to stamp this decade as complete, allowing the events which will define it to filter up.  And the more I thought about it, the more I could see how easily this collection of 10 years could easily be labelled "the fear and loathing decade......"  Events beyond our control, were foisted upon us and thrown into our lexicon and lives so radically that we are still reeling and dealing with them, the most obvious being the events of September 11, 2001.   Though terrorism was not a new concept, it truly became a personalized one as the fear factor ratcheded up to hyperventilation mode.  All of a sudden, it felt like we plummeted into a global cat and mouse, hide and seek game with evil.   We watched our leaders puff out their chests and make pronouncements about catching Bin Laden and his boys...... to eradicate Islamic fundamentalism, to target underground cells of disenfranchised Muslims through brute force. 

Bin Laden still rules the game of hide and seek. 

We have grown in awareness and weariness as the decade tick tocked away.  Afghanistan, Iraq, bombings in Indonesia, Bali, Spain, London, weapons of mass destruction were never ever found.  War children, extreme poverty, natural disasters where thousands perished despite the ability to prevent it through early detection.  Our anger increased as we learned of serious hot spots around the globe where violence and brutality against other religions, children and women. Patriotism was used shamefully to guilt many who expressed their opinions against the violent retaliatons.  Politicians continued to stumble and sputter while we became more aware of the smoke and mirrors they held up.

Sadly, Islamic terrorism reared its head again on Christmas day sending the airline industry into a tailspin.  Airports are full of weary angry people desparately trying to get on a plane to seek escape.  Flying will never, ever be the same again.  Our sense of safety will never be the same again. 

SARS, Swine, Bird......FLU!!!!  We became paralyzingly fearful of the pandemics which reared their gut wrenching illnesses which spread as fast as a sneeze in flight. Warnings became the order of the day.  Toronto became a pariah.  It took years for that city to regain its reputation as a tourist town.  We take this fear and loathing issue as well into the next decade, though many of us are now innoculated.  For the time being. Don't you wish you owned stocks in hand sanitizer and face mask making companies?

Politics has also added to the brewing fear and loathing felt in the pits of our collective guts. Has any politician maintained their full integrity?  Leadership tanked globally.  Lets hope it was just a bad gene pool??

Walls went up........a barbed wire prison the size of a city was the "answer" to an eternal war of hatred.  Piracy off the coast of Somalia.  AIDS killed.  Warlords maimed. We became consumed by raging talking heads........on the left and on the right who believe in their own brilliance as they rant on and on and on throughout the mainstream media and in our newer forms of sharing news and editorials.  Most of the best known blogs are lightening rods for nasty loathing and skin crawling opinions.  Scandals, fraudulent business schemes and blatant conflicts of interest ran rampant during this decade.  If the 70's was the ME Decade, then the first decade of the 21rst century has to be called the ME ME ME decade.....

It's a sad, sad state of affairs we are pulling into the next decade.  Reading about the background of the latest terrorist, who came from a well respected, well off family........ who was schooled in International schools, I was struck by a gut wrenching fear that on most days I can keep some control over.  Why?  Because despite the fact Bin Laden and his boys have targetted disenfranchised humans in war torn African countries and in poverty stricken neighbourhoods filled with angry young men with no future, it was a privileged radical fundamentalist who had chosen that direction, who had consumed the hatred, who tried to blow up the plane flying from Amsterdam to Detroit. It made me realize just how doomed we really are, and how we are basically held hostage to their sneaky tactics to kill. No one is safe. 

Fear and loathing............sadly, it will continue long after we put this decade to bed.

Tomorrow, I will take on another angle......... Because as much as it has been an emotionally heaving 10 years, in a negative sense, it also was one that has beautiful blooms too.  It was bad, but not all bad.  

a dream....wanna figure it out for me??

A couple of weeks ago, I had a strange, strange dream that was so vividly detailed that it felt like I created a story in my sleep.  The details have remained with me.  They haven't faded whatsoever like most dreams that meet me when I wake up.  I've shared it with a few people, but this is the first time trying to encapsulate it in words.  Here she blows.........................

It begins with me entering the dining room located in an old historic building (for the folks from around here it was the restaurant at Kings Landing).  Though I've never been to this particular place in real life, in my dream I knew exactly where I was.  The dining room was decorated with dark wood.  The tables were harvest style, but darkly stained.  A huge fieldstone fireplace made the place feel so inviting, so cozy.  Seated at the table were 12 or so people... all familiar to me.  Strangely, the collection of people, who are friends of mine, but they don't know one another in real life.  In the dream, however, they do.

There was a strong feeling of sadness coming from this group.  I felt it right away.  So, I approached them and asked what was wrong and was told that a mutual friend had died.  They had all just been to her funeral.  I was stunned and shocked by this news.  The name of the person who died in my dream was never stated.......though I have a picture in my head post dream of what she looked like..... and she resembles no one I know.  Still, I was so saddened because she was young and had just had a baby.  The baby was present with this group of people.  About 8 months old, he seemed oblivious about losing his mother.  He was the kind of infant who is smiley and not fussy at all and enjoyed being passed back and forth from adult to adult who all took comfort in interacting with him.

I asked if I could hold him and he was passed to me right away.  I stood there and held him for a while, unconsciously rocking him in my arms while I spoke to the group, asking for details of the death and the funeral etc.  Then, I walked away with the baby, out of the dining room and down a long carpetted hallway.  Feeling such grief, I decided I just needed to walk slowly on my own while cradling him.  After a few minutes, all of a sudden, a strange sense of peace came over me and the knowledge that the friend who had died was alright.  She was safe and peacefully surrounded by loved ones who had passed on too.

Then, I was struck with the intuition that I had been "informed" of this information somehow through the baby, who was comfortably settled in my arms staring and smiling at me.  Of course he was too young to talk.  Still, I asked him and through some kind of telekinesis, he communicated to me that he was a conduit to the otherworld.  He could communicate with the dead and pass on messages to loved ones still on earth.  With this knowledge, I tried it out and asked him to find out how certain people were in Heaven and within moments, replies came.  It was astonishing!  I went back to the dining room to tell the others.......... and to tell them that our mutual friend, the infant's Mother was peaceful and happy.

They all rejoiced after learning and began asking the baby to contact others they had longed to know about.  It was a flurry of activity........... this communication line from where we stood alive and in the flesh to a place on the other side.  Throughout it all, I held the baby in my arms.  He continued to appear to be content and unbothered by the barrage of requests.  However, I could feel something changing inside him.  I could feel him aging and knew right away that the energy it took for him to connect with the dead was prematurely aging him. 

I told the group this.......... that our requests were impacting his development.  I told them that we should stop because the baby was using up his life energy in order to comply to our wishes.  But they wouldn't stop.  They didn't care.  It was more important that they communicate with the dead....... to resolve their issues, to pass on the messages they regretfully never uttered while their loved ones were alive, to feel the "presence" of people they missed dearly.  So important to them that they lost any empathy for the sweet little innocent baby I was holding in my arms.  I tried to stop them over and over, but they wouldn't listen to me. 

I stood there frozen on the spot as this baby continued to age inside and grow weaker in energy.  And the more I stood there, the more angry I became at their selfish self absorbed behaviour. However, I had no power to stop it. 

Then, I woke up, told my husband and completely creeped him out. 

What does it mean?  Does it mean anything?  I'm sure there are some symbols in it.... something interpretative, but I don't have a clue.  Can I just add that no hallucinagenic drugs were used during this episode? 

freedom

 Monday morning sky, November 9, 2009

Under the soft clouds quilted in miraculous hues, morning has broken. The infant sun sends rays to dapple light upon the fields across the river, gently touching treetops and chimneys curling smoke from woodstoves in warm busy kitchens. Streetlights, still burning night oil stand tall like candles on a landscape hearth that stretches along this part of the Saint John River Valley.

I am in awe as I stand on my quiet street to snap a few photos of the light show.  All is quiet.  The birds have moved on.  Trees stand bare on this November morning.... silouettes of their former selves. This air, fresh, crisp, not as cold as it could be fills my lungs as I happily give thanks to my life, and the freedom granted to me. 

Lucky me.  Why I am so lucky and others are not?  Do I even grasp how blessedly lucky I am to be able to take in the sunrise while standing freely in my thoughts, feelings and actions?    

We know nothing of freedom in this part of the world.  Freedom is only fully understood when you have lost it.  We are aware on one level........... thankful that for some reason we were graced with this gift.  Of freedom.  And for that awareness alone, we are responsible to fight for the rights and freedom of others.  Our gift to them. 

20 years ago today, the Berlin Wall came down.  It was a sunrise surprised by joy.  After 28 years imprisoned in barbed wire fear and concrete enclosure, freedom was granted.  

May we recognize this anniversary as a sunrise of possibilities..... as a motivator to work towards tearing down other heinous walls built by human beings that imprison other human beings. Let us all have the freedom to catch the glorious possibility of  the sunrise rather than feel too far away to be bathed by the beauty of the dawning of a new day.

just plain sad.

Disconnected.
Awkward.
Off balanced.
Reflective
Wondering

Five words to describe how I'm feeling right now. Thank you Pip for this really helpful exercise. Sometimes you just have to start with the feelings.... to dive right in there to be able to figure out where to go from there eh, my beautiful emerald friend? All those feelings of imperfection....

What a sad confusing day it has been. Surreal too. In a very strange way, during that sickening whoosh of emotions when you're first informed that someone you know and care about has died and responding/reacting to the news, there are thinthreaded silver moments when bits of light come through to touch you on your temples and in your heart.... moments which add a gloss to what is otherwise a very emotional time, which moisten your tears with the salt of life. It takes a while to see them though. The taste of the salt helps. Its a reminder that suffering and pain and death all play roles in life lived.

There are a few cultural and religiously based rules and rituals we follow when we are faced with the stark cold realization that only a death can initiate. Thank God for these, as they act as a guide to follow when darkness is so deep we are blind to the next steps to take. We'd flail even more if we weren't supported by specific steps we must take. But, there are no rules for the emotions are there? People react so personally at different points of awareness, over different stages of the initial grief, in a fog of disbelief so thick its difficult to know when the waves will hit. Don't ever believe they will be held back........ even the calmest harbour is drenched with the waves brought on by the news that someone you know, you care about, you have just spoken to has died.

There is no preparing.
There is no typical way to react.
Is there ever an answer to the "WHY?" No. There isn't.


Tonight, as I sit quietly in my livingroom, as still as I have been since I first heard the news last night. My good friend Barb has lost her husband after a sudden, terrifyingly short struggle with cancer. Like everyone, I'm stumbling to make sense of his death. Leigh was a bear of a man.......... STRONG, and healthy as a horse! He was never sick. But, when the cancer arrived, it took hold of him with such vengeance. We all just kept shaking our heads in disbelief. Shocking.

I spoke to him yesterday afternoon when I called to make plans for lunch on Sunday. Barb was out at the store...... one of the few times she has left his side since the diagnosis and subsequent major surgery in September.

I asked him how he was feeling, knowing he was coming out of dealing with the massive side effects of his first round of chemotherapy...... "Not good," he said. I could hear his fear and his sadness. This was a man who fixed things. He fixed people things. He fixed around the house things. People relied on Leigh for being there..... relied on him to say, "don't you worry, I'll fix this...." And OH, MY, GOD....... He couldn't fix his illness. He couldn't pull the rabbit out of the hat for himself. I heard the disappointment, the surrender in his voice. But even then, I surely didn't expect to get the call last night. Instead, I just felt awkward..... I had no idea what to say....... What do you say besides...... "I am so sorry."

Life is so painful at times. Death is so damned frightening. What can you say over the phone to someone so distraught and lonely in their dying? There are no words. Just shared sighs.

A couple of weeks ago as I was sending out a group email to update friends and co-workers, all of whom are like family to Barb, Leigh and myself....... we had all worked under the same government department umbrella for years, before they had retired and I had moved onto another job.

I impulsively suggested that we put together a basket together for them. There was so little we could do except to send our love and hope and best wishes, so why not fill a basket with those things. Maybe it would give them new energy to enter into the chemotherapy.

The idea literally formulated in my head as I wrote the email. I was feeling so helpless, and assumed others were feeling the same way. Within minutes, I had a few replies from folks who were willing to collect donations from their worksite. I sent out another email with a list of ideas, including the suggestion that perhaps a few would write out some stories, or include a few funny jokes, their own news....

The items poured in! POURED!! Everything from wine to homemade jams to books to beautifully wrapped parcels filled with "in jokey" things the friend knew would make Leigh laugh. Money too....... many donated money to go towards the yard work and winter snow plouging that Leigh wouldn't be able to do. Friends who had moved on into other jobs with other government departments heard about the basket too and showed up with gifts and money and cards and letters....and STORIES of humourous "remember whens..."

It blew my mind! When I saw it all, I knew that everyone was feeling the same way...... We all wanted to reach out. We were all so touched and rattled by that intense feeling of helplessness. It was the best we could do.... simple gifts in a communal basket wrapped with our love and our hope.

The next day, I phoned a mutual friend and asked her if she would come with me to surprise Leigh and Barb. I wanted her with me to see their surprised looks, and to experience the moment, and to add her open wide heart to it all. So, we made arrangements to arrive at the same time, later on that afternoon. What transpired was an emotionally joyful, heartmelting couple of hours of laughter, GALES of laughs, of honest fear shared, of remember whens..... of moments when there were no words, just tears in response to the loving, lovely words that were tucked into the cards, inside the packages........ the four of us sat around the kitchen table and let the feelings out freely. It was a beautiful, beautiful afternoon. Human beings connecting at an emotional place so raw and real.

Afterwards, I sent out another group email and tried my best to encapsulate it for them. I wished they could all have been there and we could've had a spontaneous party! I sent a picture too of Leigh and Barb standing by the basket and the overflowing gift bags. They needed to see their friend, who had changed so radically in such a short amount of time. I only heard back from a couple of them, because it was all too much to process. But, I knew the impact and I didn't expect replies. It was all so awkward because there are simply no words.

Today, I hugged my grieving friend. We stood and hugged for a long, long time. Her life has altered so drastically and she's in shock. We sat around the same kitchen table piled HIGH with food and pots of tea, but this time with different people, surrounded by the intensity of the moment.

The big strong bear of a man who fixes things for people and fixes things around the house is gone. Over the mountain. May he find peace. May we all let go of the "Why's" so that we can eventually recognize the bits of light. In the meantime, let the rituals guide the way through the darkness, as we taste the salt of life.

what is it all about?

Another Canadian soldier died today from a homemade bomb of hatred. A married father of three daughters. A man who was an elite human soldier from the Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry..... Corporal Nicholas Bulger. They played an interview with him on Canada Day and he spoke of how different it was to be in Afghanistan because he sees how much of a difference our Armed Forces are making. He stated that he saw it when he watched the children play freely when they once weren't able to. "When you look into the eyes of the children, you get a different perspective...." he said. A different perspective.... we could all use a bit of that kind of insight.

I think he saw human universality. He could relate to those children because it connected him to what he knows and sees here, on his home turf of Canada. It was obvious that it touched his heart with inspirational motivation, and in turn it touched me. I connected to this soldier because I was able to see and hear him ..... I heard his emotions .... heard his human-ness. And because I connected from my heart, I am saddened by his passing at a deeper level. I understand what he meant.

One Canadian man died today. 5 other soldiers were injured from the same blast. They were all members of Brigadeer General Jonathan Vance's technical team who toured sites with him, protecting him, reacting to any threats, responding to violence. Every death of a soldier is sad no matter what side of the trench he/she is on. Every death of an innocent victim is sad. Every death from the suffering of conflict is sad.

Violence prevails on every corner of our planet in some capacity or another. It's been there from the beginning of man, which makes me acknowledge to myself that we all have the potential to be violent. Even if I choose not to be, I still have it in me. Everyone does. So, what is it in a person to allow the violence to surface? What lies underneath the ACT? What is it that feeds hate which in turn flames a war? The only thing I can think of is a festering fear.....a fear so intense and so unresolved that it ferments in its own seething irrationality.

What do you fear the most? What are you most frightened of? It's good to know. It's important to consider what it is you fear and why...... AND how it impacts your choices and how you see others, both in your own neighbourhood and beyond. You can't work on those fears if you won't even begin to take a look at them. And they will fester....and they DO impact your choices and your lens. No one is exempt from this.....

I have been haunted by the photo Paul posted on his blog this week.....a man holding a mortally wounded child in blood stained clothes, his body contorted in death... his innocent face striped in his own blood. Maybe before this boy was injured, he was able to somehow get lost in some form of play? Even under those circumstances? I don't know.

The man is carrying this young one (his son? his neighbour's son? his nephew? a stranger to him?) along the drydirt path beside the wall that keeps them in and away from basic necessities, in the line of fire. Violence prevails. It prevails on both sides of the wall only the humans within the cement fortification have no choice but to attempt to survive as prisoners, as sitting targets of violence. Innocents suffer. There are no words.

What fear feeds this hatred? What anguish sucks the marrow out of love? Frightened of the other? Is that it? War and violence stem from our incessant fear of someone who is different? Different religion, different culture, different way of interacting in this world?

I read a story Jean Vanier conveyed about a Jewish woman named Etty Hillesum who died in Auschwitz at the age of 29. In her journal after she had been yelled at by a Gestapo officer, she wrote: "I felt no indignation, rather a real compassion and would like to ask: 'Did you have a very unhappy childhood, has your girlfriend let you down?'"

There she was in a place of living Hell, but she had an abiding belief that each person is a "house" where God resides. She believed that every single person had the potential to carry the mystery of God within the essence of being able to love and to be loved. Through that lens, she saw the beauty in every individual. Etty Hillesum, Vanier wrote, is one of the people who has influenced him the most. I bet Etty projected a calm sense of kindness and compassion as her approach to combatting the hatred fueled in the hearts of the Gestapo who ruled Auschwitz. Through believing in compassion.......one always feels forgiveness.....

I wish we could teach this. I wish we could believe in the power of compassion and kindness....of empathy. I wish we could live by the belief that all human beings are loved and can love. If we have the propensity to be violent, than we all have the propensity to be loving. Right?

We could erradicate the fermentation of irrational fears and turn it into wine instead. Wine to sip and share...... If we really want to. We have to start at looking at our own fears....! Then the very idea of making a bomb wouldn't even be considered. Then maybe walls would come down and little boys could play within the safe haven of their peaceful neighbourhoods. Then we wouldn't continue to mourn the loss of human beings struck down by the violence of wars. But how? How do we turn this world around so that people stop spitting venom and hatred at one another? I think it begins by looking into the eyes of the other. Just like Corporal Nicholas Bulger did with the Afghanistan children. It changed his perspective.
It can change our own. When was the last time you truly looked into the eyes of another human being? It may make all the difference.

______

This week's prompt at Sunday Scribblings is "human." To see more contributions, check out their blog.

the vanity of a delusion

There is a cloudy film on her internal lens that smears her vision. It wasn't always there. It developed over years of trying to escape the painful truth ..... the same truth she continues to turn her attention away from and instead towards seducing a chimerical notion.

She never felt loved. She never felt worthy of it. These messages, which she heard inside her head over and over again until they echoed with quickening vibrations like the high pitched cry of a collicky baby. Whether this was the truth or not, it didn't matter. Haunted and hunted, this message became her acidic reality....one that poked holes in her snared heels where her soul drained out. It left her an empty chasm in need of vital attention only restored when she consumed her thoughts with pleasuring. Pleasuring herself. Fed by a powerful anger that simmered under black latex protection, her wants overheated logical thinking and left her salivating in her own ruminations. She set her sights and never turned away.

over and over and over.....

the same self talk....

messages created by an imagination gone awry

over and over and over.....

until she was completely convinced.

Most of the time, she packaged her unrelenting hunger to be recognized as worthy by ensuring that others around her perceived her actions as self-less, helpful, innocently offered. She was a giver! Many only saw her outer persona as socially capable and always giving of herself. Like a flimsy house of cards, however, her projected life was only an illusion. She knew it somewhere deep down in her subconcious, but she had convinced herself so intensely that the fallacies were rooted in rich soil. They were real, NOT fantasy. She held onto this belief......

When anyone questioned the contradictions she portrayed, she was able to sway them somewhat with her fabrications or poked her finger into their triggerpoints. She protected her stories by learning to embrace the role of the martyr .... a victim of the bile of others. Her answers to others were never exactly the same, though they had one thing in common: they were vaguely written perambulations which never answered the questions.

Her bewildering lies soon became her truth. It was like living inside a blender where there was absolutely no way of knowing what the original ingredients were or of what was natural or artificial flavouring. The more someone questioned, the more incensed she would become that someone wouldn't believe in her soft downy innocence. Even with evidence foisted under her twitching nose, she would never relent....never let down her guard to admit that she was a product of a delusion.

Sadly, more and more saw the picture she painted as a mirage until the early life message she convinced herself was true, that she was unloved, became a self-fulfilling prophecy. Her vanity fanned delusions took her full circle. But, she would never admit that failure to herself. Oh, no! She wasn't wrong!! She hadn't created the mess!! Instead, she blamed everyone else for being so screwed up that they would NEVER understand how much she sacrificed and how much she deserved her pleasures.

Hmmm......I wonder if she should consider running as a candidate in the next election?? She seems to have the right kind of profile.

contradictions

the sharp intake of contradiction

sits in wait at the cross of two paths

where painted signs of doubting discomfort

hung in low branches

point out the myriad of directions.

the air is thinly perfumed with baffling adrenaline

and scored by an orchestra of silent instruments

playing to the crowd of lonely patrons

what to do?

who to believe?

why the paradoxes?

what do we thirst?

is contradiction a flirtatious whore in a white dress

who lures innocent hearts into dangerous territory....

or simply a scorned misunderstood woman

offering new awareness in delicate cups

filled with thirst quenching water from the well?

may we accept her for who she is and what she offers -

a place for learning found in the bittersweet elixir of life's adventure.

take care, drink deeply, love like you've never been hurt.

.....know you are part of the unfolding of a mystery

....know that in the core of a contradiction is a clue.

passion through another lens....

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

Just when you thought hope had been smothered by the lingering heaviness of standstill time when your soul is clenched to ward off despair, it winks a deep pink so enticing you can't help but be pulled into its promise. A feast for your eyes. Salve for the spirit. At the very same moment when the pink blush smiles into a broader swath of pastel tangerine and touches the darkness all around turning it into a tangled blue, a choir harkens....no words, just a welcoming invitation to sit in the rising passion of dawn.

If only it could last forever, held captive by a living snapshot. But we know it would fade away into a outdated design. We would grow tired of its beauty. Besides, hope never remains still. Its very nature carries us forward in its inspiration.

We are kissed by the joy of a sunrise and rejoice in its loveliness. Its softening warmth is sweeter when we have waited on the wings with the lights down low. Let it lift you up into its arms away from despair, to show you a new day.....fresh with no mistakes.

Let your gaze be beautiful.....and know there is always a hand to hold. The sun RISES this morning and I sit in the darkness with You and notice.

Happy Easter.

Let the miracle of the day bathe you in comfort.

whiskey soaked ancient peace

A deep baritone lament hung in the hollow of his silence. It reverberated through the timbre of his confused thoughts as he lifted the glass of whiskey to his lips. Alone, sitting soundly in his leather chair at a time when the rest of the world seemed fast asleep, he wondered where his life was going to take him. So many pressures, so many complications piled up all around him that he found it almost impossible to drive a wedge through to sunlight.

Today, he closed his shop for good. He never thought he'd see the day. Today, he left his passion on top of the last pile he swept up off the floor and when he walked through the door for the last time, he felt beaten down. Left without a map, he knew he was stepping into what felt like an abyss. Or maybe it was perdition......his soul felt detached from his body. Where had he gone wrong, he wondered for the thousandth time as he swallowed deeply? How had this happened?

He felt numb. His only wish was to soften the numbness tonight.....to drink enough to drive his anger, his grief, his sorrow far enough away so that there was room to find a resting place where that ever elusive tranquility hung. But, it seemed like that blue water tranquility was only a mirage.

He hadn't felt relief in months and it showed in the dark circles under his eyes, in the haunting settled in his eyes. Others relied on him to be the provider, to be the anchor and here he was adrift, floating aimlessly in swift currents. Failure....failure.....he felt like a complete and utterly broken man. And the only thing he could think of were his desire to escape. He wanted to run away. Rock bottom and alone, he had to shore himself up to stay and face the music.

As he grabbed the bottle and poured himself another full tumbler, the night began to swallow him whole. His thoughts rushed together like a head on train crash. The sound, a combination of clashing cymbals and the high pitched of metal on metal brakes felt like it hit the front of the inside of his head with a wild cacophony of fear. Tinnitus of the spirit. It made him feel sick to his stomach. The only thing he could think of was to sit in the silent soaked in regret. There was nothing to look forward to in the morning.....nothing that couldn't be done on any other day. He felt so far removed from the rest of the world. The thought of seeing himself sitting on the sidelines while everyone else got up and went to work, school....destinations.....made him feel so shivery alone.

Lost in complete self-absorbed mourning, he neglected to hear anyone enter the room to turn on the stereo. All of a sudden, music was playing softly through the dark tunnel he was sitting in. It was a melodic comforting hymn which instead of disrupting his thoughts, fell into them with a soothing balm.....he recognized the voice and the song....and could feel it's aural massage lifting him out of himself. He could hear his breathing deepen in a calm. Instead of thinking of his situation, he began to pull himself into the tune.

Beside the garden walls,
We walk in haunts of ancient peace.
At night we rest and go to sleep
In haunts of ancient peace.

The love and light we seek,
The words we do not need to speak,
Here in this wondrous way we keep
These haunts of ancient peace.
Let us go there again
When we need some relief
Oh, when I can't find my feet
When I need rest and sleep.

The Sunday bells they chime
Around the countryside and towns
A song of harmony and rhyme
In haunts of ancient peace.
The holy grail we seek
On down by haunts of ancient peace.
We see the new Jerusalem
In haunts of ancient peace.

Oh, when I can't find my feet
Oh, when I need some relief
One more time again.
You know I want to go there one more time again.
Be still in haunts of ancient peace.


"Be still," whispered the voice in the room. "Be still and let me sit with you. Let's share a glass of whiskey friend. You are not alone....."

The broken man leaned over and poured the stranger a glass and handed it to him in silence. When he looked up at him however, even through the darknight, he could see the man's face.....saw a friendly smile, felt his calmness, saw the familiarity in his caring eyes. He took in the soft light which seemed to emanate kindness and love all around the stranger. Strangely, the encounter seemed like a natural happening, not an invasion of his home. Rather, it felt like a meeting between two old friends.

The man invited the stranger to sit down in the chair next to him, but the stranger chose to sit quietly on the rug in front of the man. As the music played on like soothing bathwater pouring in the background, the stranger whispered....

"Tell me your sorrows.....let me help you carry them."

Within the loving trust between two, the man sat and wept. Jesus, leaned forward, put his hand on the man's knee and wept too.

The words we do not need to speak,
Here in this wondrous way we keep
These haunts of ancient peace.
Let us go there again
When we need some relief
Oh, when I can't find my feet
When I need rest and sleep

be still........

the night will soon turn to dawn.

ps. the lyrics and song by Van Morrison...a hymn which always helps me find my own stillness

the 12 most difficult steps

Lily, our canine matriarch.

Photo by Martha.

1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol - that our lives had become unmanageable.

2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.

4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.

5. Admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.

6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.

7. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.

8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.

9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.

11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.

12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

Heartwrenching brokenness

The series of falls are painful, bruising, hard and deep before one can reach out for the first rung with the understanding and the surrendering needed for the journey up the 12 steps.

Physically, emotionally, spiritually, holistically.

Humbly.

Honestly

Reflectively

Purposefully

I have had the privilege of learning from the experts. Their raw feelings seep out of their skin electrifying the air when they share a slice of reflections. Broken admissions blend with a hopeful heart scarred by scraping knuckles and knees in search of serenity.

Stories spill.

Wishes spill.

Tears come easily because they live just under the sensitive surface.

Prayers repeated until they are at last heard.....until they finally come from a deep holiness which sits in the pit of blackhole transformation. Prayers spoken until they are birthed into a home where loving guiding hands await the surrendering.

Palms upward and open....friends, family, strangers, God.

I have learned from the experts. Beautiful and broken..... they know the story. They know it can't be done alone. They know it needs love and unconditional acceptance. God has that in abundance. So do we.

You know, i'm left this morning wondering if these are truly the steps we all need to consider attempting. They are the learning steps towards living a life with humbling grace and forgiveness of ourselves and others.