Category Archives: Covid-19

When fear beckons. Dance.

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I awaken to the ruckus of a Magpie squawking outside our bedroom window. Weak dawn light seeps through the blinds.

Beside me, my husband sleeps. His rhythmic breathing a hushed whisper barely discernible beneath the Magpie’s cacophony. I watch his chest move up and down with each breath. His breathing is measured, easy this morning. I push the first ‘what if’ of the day out of my mind. The alternatives to his easy breathing are too scary to contemplate.

I rollover. Check the time on my phone where it sits on my night table. 5:30 am. Is it too early to get up?

I lay in place, sheltering under the blankets, breathing. Thoughts of the day ahead infiltrate the quiet in a swoosh of choppy waves frothing at the edges of my ease of mind. They are filled with distress-riddled words. Pandemic. Covid. Self-isolation. Social distance. Shelter-in-place.

The last vestiges of sleep are ruthlessly washed out of my mind with the tide of emotions stirred up by my thoughts. I get up.

Restless, I walk into the kitchen, turn on the lights above the island to brighten the tepid morning light. I press the on button for the cappuccino maker. It gurgles its familiar greeting.

Beaumont the Sheepadoodle lifts his head from where he sleeps on the chaise by my desk. He raises his back haunches, puts his front paws on the floor, stretches and lowers his back end off the chaise to join his front paws on the floor. He paddles over to where I stand on the far side of the kitchen island. I scratch behind his ears, he leans his warm body into my leg. We stand like that for a few moments. Breathing into the quiet. The morning. The noises and words that disturbed my sleep slip away with his warm, familiar comfort against my body. I say nothing about lying on the chaise where he’s not supposed to be.

I take him out for his morning walk. Long coat covering my pajamas.  The Magpie is gone. The sound of distant traffic ripples through the air in concert with the river flowing past. The streets are empty.

Inside again, Beau wanders off to sleep away the morning on the bed, curled up in the curve of my husband’s legs. I close the bedroom door. Shut in. They won’t arise for a few more hours.

I walk back into the kitchen. Make my latte. Think about cleaning the oven. It’s a self-cleaning oven. Doesn’t take much to get the job done. The job feels too much for me today. I let the thought pass.

I wander through the room. I pick up some papers from one spot and move them to another. I fluff a pillow on the sofa. Fold the blanket I used last night to keep me warm while I lost myself in some forgettable movie on Netflix. I carefully place the blanket at the end of the sofa. Just so. Order amidst chaos.

My head keeps running through the litany of things I should be adding to my To Do list. I need to write them down. I decide its too much effort. I’ll think about the To Do’s later.

I check in with my feelings. Restless. Uneasy. Weary. And my old friend, fear, is there, lurking in the back corner of my mind, seeking disruptive entry.

And I haven’t even checked the news yet. I haven’t read the statistics.

And already I’m weary.

I am weary of the mounting losses. Weary of the constant reminders to wash my hands. Keep my distance. Stay home.

I am weary.

I take a breath.

Weary or not, here I come.

I turn on some music. Not my normal gentle morning sounds of piano and cello.

This is music to stir my soul. Raise my heartbeat. Get me moving. Chase the worries away.

Andra Day. Rise Up.

Aretha Franklin. Respect.

Eurythmics. Sweet Dreams.

Survivor. Eye of the Tiger.

Gnarls Barkley. Crazy.

Gloria Gaynor. I Will Survive.

Journey. Don’t Stop Believin’

Lee Ann Womack. I Hope You Dance.

The voices rise. I rise up to greet them. I start to move. My body. My arms. My legs. My feet. I start to move. Back and forth. Side to side. I find the rhythm beneath the words. I let my body have its way to the beat.

And I am dancing.

Dancing in the morning light. Dancing to greet the day. Dancing to raise me up.

I am dancing away my fear. My anxiety. My weariness.

I am dancing.

I hope you dance. Too.

_______________

Thank you Brian Webb for your ‘Shelter-in-Place Playlist’ and for your inspiration.  I’ve only included a few of your songs here — but the whole list is amazing! Thank you for your inspiration which inspired me to ‘Dance Away the Blues‘ this morning. 

In Love, fear doesn’t stand a chance.

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Easter Sunday.

No brunch at the golf club today. A family tradition gone by the wayside under Covid’s watch.

No family gathering – at least not in person.

The world is silent. Streets remain empty. Few cars. Few pedestrians.

Shuttered behind closed doors, we wait.

Behind the front door of their home in Vancouver, my eldest daughter and her family wait. Not just the Easter Bunny to arrive but for the arrival of a precious, beautiful baby girl.

My eldest daughter is pregnant. Her baby’s due date, July 9. But, they’re pretty sure she’ll have to deliver 3 – 4 weeks early via C-section due to a liver condition that can appear during pregnancy.

The other day, I was telling her how I am consciously choosing to not think about the arrival of my granddaughter. “It hurts too much to think I won’t be able to be there,” I tell her. “Yet, not thinking about her means I’m missing out on the excitement, the anticipation, the joy her birth brings into my world.”

I must let myself feel. All of it.

I want to compartmentalize my feelings.

Good ones in this wide-open space of my heart beating wildly free. Hard to cope with ones over here, in this lockbox of steel and titanium.

This infant will be coming into a very different world than her brother entered just over two years ago. He too arrived early, but his world was filled with touch. Laughter. Grandparents, aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews gathering to meet him, to hold him, kiss him, ooh and ahhh over him, cuddle him.

My granddaughter’s arrival will not be filled with extended family gathering to meet her. There will be no baby shower. No gathering of family to welcome her home. My daughter must cope with the losses amidst the beauty of giving birth.

There is so much missing. So much that will be missed.

But there is one thing that is not missing. There is one thing that will sustain and support my daughter, her family and their precious newborn as they adjust to bringing this new life into the family circle.

Love.

It is always there. Flowing. Embracing. Filling each moment, every heart.

I must remember the Love. Feel it. Be it. Carry it. Hold it with outstretched hands across the Rockies, the interior valleys up and over the Coastal Range to their home by the sea.

I must hold out Love. Hold onto Love. Be Love.

When I think of my granddaughter’s arrival, I want to wish away Covid, wish away self-isolation, wearing masks, constant washing of hands, avoiding physical contact with others, avoiding groups and Zoom calls in lieu of person-to-person gatherings.

I want to wish it all away.

When I think of my granddaughter’s imminent arrival, I want the world to be different. To be less scary. Less one enormous danger zone.

I want what used to be.

I can’t. I can’t wish away Covid and I can’t have what used to be.

I must breathe into what is and remember the Love. The Love that is always present. Always here.

In Love, my heart beats freely. In Love, fear doesn’t stand a chance.

I may not be there to hold her in the first few days of her life on earth. I may not be able to be physically there to help my daughter and her family during their first days as a family of 4.

And my heart aches. I feel the sense of loss. Of sadness. Of wishing that times were different.

And I remember to breathe.

In. Out.

Deeply. Slowly.

In. Out.

The ache eases. It is less pressing, less frightening.

And that’s when it comes to me. The realization that not thinking about my granddaughter gives the virus more power than it deserves.

Yes. This tiny, invisible to the naked eye microbe has changed the entire world.

Yes. It has caused massive suffering, death, economic hardship, mental anguish and a host of other dire things.

But I will not let it steal my joy. I will not let it take away from me the gift of family. Of being present to the anticipation of new life. Of rejoicing in an infant’s arrival on this earth.

I will not give this virus that power.

______________________________________

I awoke this morning thinking about the arrival of my granddaughter and feeling somewhat sad about these circumstances that will inevitably still be in place when she is born.

And now, as always happens when I write it out. I feel more hopeful. More centered. More ready to start creating different pathways to experiencing the excitement and beauty of this time of waiting and her imminent birth.

If you have any ideas on how to adjust ‘what used to be’ to create a loving way in the here and now of being present within her imminent arrival, I would be so grateful for all ideas.

It’s time I let go of ‘not thinking’ and became engaged in actively thinking about ways to celebrate her arrival and her life.

Namaste.

__________________

And for our Zoom-in family dinner tonight, I decided to create family bunnies to be at the table with us.

Doing this gave/gives me great joy.

And I breathe.

My daughter and her family in Vancouver

The last photo is the alcohol ink on yupo paper that became the bunny for Alexis.

The Sequestered Baker

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15

Food was my parent’s love language.

Their love affair with all things culinary began with my father. As a teenager, he ran away from boarding school and worked in a bakery until he signed up with the RAF at the commencement of WW2.

He married my mother in India during the war and when they arrived in Canada after it ended, my mother didn’t know how to boil an egg. She’d had servants all her life. Cooking was not a necessary life skill.

Dad taught mum how to cook and over the years, they both shared not only the ‘how to’s’ of kitchen magic but also their love for the art of creating all things foody.

Depending upon what I’m creating, childhood memories flood my body when I am in the kitchen. If it’s bread, I am with my dad, hands immersed in flour, kneading and kneading dough. I can hear him telling me to be patient. That baking bread isn’t just about combining flour and yeast and water. It’s alchemy. An ancient art form evoking our ancestors hovered over earthen ovens buried in the sands of sweeping deserts and time’s passing. My father was a romantic by nature. Baking bread always brought out the poetry of his soul.

Appetizers and charcuterie, first courses and desserts… I hear my mother’s voice exhorting me to ensure everything not only tastes delicious but looks beautiful too. My mother was an artist at heart. The beauty of her food a song of love to all who sat down to share a meal at her table.

I thank my parents for the gift of being a romantic and an artist. Creating culinary delights is the counterbalance to my joy of creating beautiful tablescapes.

Vegan very berry coconut muffins

The gift of this time spent sequestered in solitude at home is the opportunity to spend time in the kitchen experimenting, playing, creating.

I just wish the scales weren’t tipping so awkwardly to one side with all my baking. Because, while C.C., my beloved, is delighted with fresh baking every day, my waistline is beginning to wish it had a built-in elastic band! It’s easy for my beloved to eat his full share without moaning. His waistline doesn’t seem to budge an inch no matter his consumption of savouries, sweets, treats and cookies.

But it doesn’t stop me. This solitude keeps drawing me back to the place where I find the most comfort. Where I feel most connected to my family circle. The kitchen.

Tune into one of our weekly family zoom calls, and you’ll find much of the conversation between my two sisters and daughters is all about food.

Creep my youngest daughter’s Instagram account and you’ll see video after video of meals being prepared in their newly renovated kitchen.

And check any of our email Inbox’s and you’ll discover a swathe of recipes shared and well-chewed on.

We love to talk about food. We love to create food.  We love to share what we create.

Thank you mum and dad. These memories and the love of being in the kitchen you ignited in my life, shore me up no matter the times, no matter what’s happening in the world.

That’s why, when C.C. (my beloved) and I renovated our home, our kitchen became the focal point of our design. It’s a win/win. He likes it when I spend time in the kitchen. I love spending time in our kitchen.

I am grateful for its beauty. Its utilitarian nature. It’s many appliances (and gadgets) and the flavourful memories that awaken every time I step onto the kitchen mat.

Namaste.

________________________________________

Earlier this week, on my FB page, I shared the photo above and a friend asked me to share the recipe!

My daughters have always loved my Chocolate Chip Oatmeal Cookies.

The original recipe is in the the Silver Palate Cookbook which became my cooking bible when it came out in 1982.

I’ve adapted it over the years and share my adaptation here:

Chocolate Chip Oatmeal Cookies

1/2 cup butter

½ cup margarine

1 egg

2 tbsp. milk (I use Oat Milk)

1 tsp. vanilla

1 cup unsifted white flour

1 1/2 tsp. baking powder

1/4 tsp. salt

2 cup Rolled Oats

1/2 cup firmly packed Demerara Sugar  (original recipe calls for light brown)

1/2 cup Coconut Sugar   (original recipe calls for white sugar)

10 ozs dark chocolate chips

You can also add in 1/2 c of walnut chunks.
You can also replace the chocolate chips with raisins.

Directions:

Preheat over to 375F

Using the large bowl of a stand mixer and the whisk device (a hand blender works too) – blend together butter and both sugars until creamy and smooth. Whisk egg in a small bowl, add milk and vanilla. Add to butter sugar mixture and whisk until well blended.

In a separate bowl, stir together flour, baking powder and salt. Add to mixing bowl (the electric mixer will not work well for this part as the dough gets very heavy and thick.)

With a large wooden spoon, slowly add in the flour mixture to the butter/sugar mixture a little a time. Combine all.

Add in the oatmeal, one cup at a time. Then the chocolate chips.

Bonus! Because this batter gets thick and hard to stir you get a good arm workout! You can also add in a couple more tablespoons of milk to manage it better.

Refrigerate for ½ an hour (or more)  I make a batch a day from the same batter.

Drop by tablespoon onto cookie sheet lined with parchment paper. Flatten slightly.  You should get almost 50 cookies (medium sized) from one batter.

Bake for 12 – 14 minutes or until edges begin to brown.

Let cool on wire rack.

Enjoy!

 

___________

The muffin recipe can be found here:

 

 

 

When Will The Future Begin?

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Dawn rises quickly here above the 51st parallel. It graces the sky with hurried rosy hues like a prima donna blowing kisses to adoring fans before exiting stage left as the curtain falls and the audience rises to continue on with their lives.

Night has fallen asleep. Day has risen. Daily life begins.

For citizens around the world, especially those of us who have the luxury to take care of ourselves at home in these days of Covid, daily life has taken on a new rhythm. For many of us it is slower. Calmer. Perhaps even less stressful and pressure-driven.

Yet, for the majority of us, there is a constant concern rippling through our minds. Concern for our health and wellbeing and for the health and well-being of those we love. Anxiety about ‘what will happen next?’ Anxiety for what the world will look like when all of this is over.

In a world of information at the press of a key on our laptops, we worry about which sources to trust. Which politicians to believe. Which pundit to heed. We worry about whether we have enough information or the right information to weather this storm. We worry about what the unseeable future will look like.

We worry about whether our children will fall too far behind in school. We wonder how they’ll ever catch up, forgetting the disruptions we are experiencing are universal, including for our children.  In their disruptive nature, possibilities for change, for different, for better arise. Yet, we worry we will not be able to trust what might happen in the future.

For some, the worry of no job and fast depleting resources disrupts their sleep, keeping them from the gift of rest and the relative ease that comes with being at home.

For others, the fear a loved one will die and that it could happen without a loving family member at their side causes an ache in their heart that cannot be eased by positive affirmations.

And for others, this long, drawn-out good-bye to the lives we knew clouds our minds like fog shrouding our view of the road ahead. Lost in its misty, impenetrable greyness, we crave a certainty we cannot see.

We want to know. When will all of this be over? When will the future begin?

No one knows.

Sure, there are graphs and charts mapping out what the timeline could look like. There are projections of illness counts and death tolls.

But there is no concrete, marked on the calendar with a giant X date to say, This is what the future looks like. This is when the future begins.

The future is now.

We are the future.

This future we are living now demands we let go of old ways of living that do not work for us, nor the world. It demands we embrace new ways of being on this planet, ways that do no harm for our fellow human beings and the delicate ecological fabric of our universe. And, it demands we see the world as what it is: One planet. One ozone layer. One gravitational pull. One global environment. One animal kingdom. One humanity. Connected in all ways through all things and beings.

We are living on the practice field of our future. This stay-at-home condition which so many of us are living right now is our ground zero. Our place where we get to choose to make it a sacred, safe environment where we can learn new ways of being with one another, together and apart. To explore creative ways of being at peace staying at home without racing out into the world to find habitual distractions that momentarily ease our angst but cause disruptions throughout our lives and the world around us.

And, it is a time to build our gratitude muscles and practices. To be thankful for all we have, especially those who make our lives rich and meaningful. Those who make what we have possible while taking care to say thanks to those who risk their own well-being in order that we can stay at home during this time of Covid.

We are mapping out our future by sheltering in place. As we go through each day, we are being invited to breathe deeply into what is present in our lives right now. To trust we are doing the right things to take care of ourselves and others. To let go of fear so that we can breathe easily together as one planet, one humanity, one human condition.

Our fear clouds the present. It builds pathways to tomorrow that are not built on trust, but rather, anxiety.

Anxiety does not make a good bed companion, nor a good road builder.

Trust in yourself. Trust in this precious planet we call home. And trust that in doing the right thing today, whatever tomorrow brings, your courage, strength and Love will rise up to guide you in handling whatever comes your way with grace.

Trust that you gave your best to every moment today. You gave your all to create a world of peace, hope, love and joy.

No one can tell us when the future begins. But we each know when tomorrow comes. Right after today.

Let’s live today for all we’re worth so that every tomorrow is built on the beauty and love we bestowed on every minute of today.

 

Namaste

 

Beauty in the rubble.

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My beloved and I had one of those conversations last night… you know, the difficult kind where all you really want to do is dump your unease, your fear, your shallow breathing on the one you love, if only so you can feel relieved of the burdens weighing down your heart.

Yeah. That kind. Where grace takes a back seat to your drive to take your unease out on the one you love.

It is one of the challenges of sequestered solitude. Being together 24/7 is an unusual circumstance.

The mind does not like unusual circumstances.

It prefers the predictable. The known. The road most travelled. Especially where human relations are concerned.

The challenge… Sequestered solitude/quarantine/stay-at-home/sheltered-in-place is such a new circumstance, it can be easy to mistake the comfort and ease of travelling together on the road most travelled for a rut.

For me, if there’s one thing I want to avoid, it’s being stuck in a rut. And, because my ruts are often constructed of unspoken words and thoughts not shared and dreams and fears unexpressed, I end up convincing myself that the only way out is to lob a few word-grenades at my beloved to blow up my silence.

Yeah. Not pretty. Nor all that smart. Because, if you’re like my beloved and me, when I lob a couple of word-grenades at him, he doesn’t like to back down. And then… You guessed it. Game on.

We all hold in our minds, stories of how these battles are won and lost. How fraught they are with minefields and how the best defence is a strong offence.

In moments of discord, however, flinging your words like a heat-seeking missile at the heart of the one you love is not an act of self-defence. It’s an act of aggression.

Yeah. It was that kind of discussion.

Not pretty in the midst of the fray. Grace-filled and loving in its denouement.

Compassion is key.

Compassion for your beloved, and yourself.

Compassion that awakens the grace within to stop, mid-sentence and acknowledge how your behaviour is contributing to the discord. How your fears and uncertainty are the shaky foundation unleashing your angst with all that is going on, and not a statement of anything shaky in your Love for them.

Compassion that allows you to look at yourself and your behaviour with loving-kindness and to look at your beloved through eyes that see ‘the why’ of your love for them, not the why not’s.

These are scary, challenging times. Not just on pocketbooks and bank accounts, jobs and businesses, health and well-being. But on our hearts, minds and bodies. All around us, there is uncertainty. Lacking clarity, uncertainty gives rise to fear. Fear can become a powerful force of destruction when it is not surrounded by Love.

My beloved and I had an uncomfortable conversation last night. It had begun with a relatively benign event that grew into a mountain of discord by days end. Our conversation didn’t start out pretty, but then, when word-grenades are used to ‘open up dialogue’, the ensuing conversation seldom is.

Trapped in the rubble of our discord, we had a choice to make. Dig deeper into our individual foxholes firing shots at one another until one of us eventually falls into an uneasy sleep. Or, join together and dig into the rubble to unearth the exquisite beauty of the truth that sits mounted like a beautiful jewel at the centre of our relationship. Love. It binds us together. It makes our lives and hearts sparkle.

Sometimes, because of our habitual responses to stress, change, uncertainty, we will default to our positions of weakness, rather than strength. And while in our heart of hearts we know neither of us wants to hurt the other or cause the other pain, when weakened by fear, it’s easy to forget that truth.

It is in those moments we must both choose to let go of our need to be right so that we can give in to our desire to grow together in deep, intimate, sacred Love.

My beloved and I fell into the muck of deep, difficult conversation last night. I am grateful. It opened our hearts to deeper, more intimate connection, not just in this time of Covid but in all the times of our lives together.

 

Namaste.

 

 

 

 

A Tale of Two Pie Crusts

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My mother made amazing pie crusts. In fact, because it was so good, and because she taught my eldest sister how to replicate her goodness, and for many years she gave me packets of uncooked piecrust for my freezer, I never bothered to master the art.

Until Covid.

Like millions of people across the country and around the world, I’ve decided it’s time to stretch my culinary muscles.

I mean seriously, I can whip up a four-course gourmet dinner with unpronounceable delicacies and intricate sauces. What on earth is keeping me from adding a perfect pie crust to my repertoire? It can’t be that difficult. Right?

Ha!

Over the years, I have ventured into what I hoped would be pie crust heaven only to find myself in a hell of a mess. Dry crust. Too moist crust. Unrollable crust. Heavy, tough crust. I’ve made all the mistakes. Which probably accounts for the reason I generally opt for crusts I can pat into the plate without any need to roll the beastly thing out!

No more I told myself! It’s time to conquer my fear of pie crust hell.

On Saturday my odyssey began. I watched some videos. Checked out recipes and then got to work on making a crust for Chicken Pot Pie. Let me just say, the filling was excellent. The crust? Well… that’s a whole other story of woe.

I’m sure if my mother is watching from on high, she is rolling her eyes and cautioning me to follow the directions, treat it all with loving care and slow down. Be patient. Be kind. Be gentle.

It’s all your fault mom. The fact I don’t like following directions. The fact I tend to speed through things I don’t know how to do. The fact, I don’t like doing things I don’t know how to do!

Remember. You used to always get so upset with my need to ‘Do it my way’. As a teenager I enjoyed the tension that brought into our relationship a lot. In fact, I’d often do everything the way you didn’t just to make my point. I wasn’t you and didn’t want to be!

I mean seriously! I didn’t want to be you, but it’s all your fault I’m me. Hmmm… Now that made lots of sense.

Fact is, for many years, my litany of your faults made my life one big messy pie for which, albeit not true, I like to believe you were to blame. Things like, my inability to follow directions. My lack of being able to tell left from right. North from south. My poor discipline when it comes to weight loss. My untidy bedroom, even my unmade bed.

All of that was your fault. And don’t get me started on the big things… My failed relationships. My need for perfection. My fear of failure. Ooooh… that’s a biggy!

Yesterday, I decided to dive into my fear of failure by taking a second foray into blending flour, water and shortening into pie crust.

My second attempt is not perfect – rolling it out was still an anxiety-riddled adventure that resulted in a few patches here and there. But all in all, it isn’t too bad.

And that’s where I have to thank my mother. To get it all to roll together, I had to incorporate many lessons she taught me throughout my life.

To be patient in the face of my fears.
To incorporate kindness into everything I do.
And, to be gentle with the world around me.

My pie crust yesterday didn’t turn out as perfectly as I wanted, but then, life seldom turns out to be the perfect road we want it to be (just as our mothers could never be the maternal goddesses of our dreams). But life is always the road we need to travel to find ourselves right where we are and our mothers are always the perfect teachers of what we need to learn so that we can become the person we want to be.

Thanks mom. I know it’s not your fault my pastry crusts haven’t had the flaky tenderness of yours. Just as I know you’re not to blame for the challenges (and misadventures) I’ve encountered on my road.

To be clear, though, I give you full credit for the lessons you taught me on how to weather life’s challenges with patience and humility. And, I am forever grateful for the gift of love you gave me always. The gift that enriches my life every moment, because, no matter how challenging I was in our relationship or how many challenges I faced in my life, you taught me how to turn up in the world with kindness, grace and a heart full of love. Always.

Namaste.

I Rise Up.

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Some mornings, when I awaken, I want to stay hidden beneath the covers, my body curled up, held still in my beloved’s breathing, the silence of the dark, the coolness of the air, the weight of the dog, his body stretched out where he lies at the end of the bed.

I don’t. Stay there.

I rise up.

Even when weariness clogs my pores and saturates my thoughts with twisted coils of anxiety. Even when the heaviness of these times weighs upon my heart like an unwanted guest who has overstayed their welcome.

I rise up.

And begin. Again. To move through my day with all the compassion and grace I can muster.

Some days, my compassion and grace feel deep. Like a pool of water at the bottom of a waterfall on a tropical island. Cool. Refreshing. Captivating. Enchanting. Sustaining.

On those days, I rise up and greet the day with a smile. I pad about the house in my bare feet. Turn the cappuccino maker on. Put on a coat and shoes and take the dog out. I light the candle on my desk. Make a latte. Turn my music on. Low. Soft. Melodious. No words. Just gentle, soulful sounds of violin and piano. Cello and guitar.

On those days, possibilities for my day feel endless. Inviting.

On those days, I make a list of what I want to do, of what needs to get done and then, cross off the ‘needs’ to focus only on the things that stir my heart and spark my imagination.

On those days, compassion and grace flow easily.

On the other days, those days where the act of rising out of bed is an unwelcome interruption to my body’s desire to be left alone by thought and action, ennui prowls the early morning light, keeping dawn from rising. Keeping vigil to ensure compassion and grace remain at bay.

Under ennui’s smothering cloak, compassion and grace struggle against the tides of lethargy rolling in on the waves of fear that froth and roil at the edges of my peace of mind.

On those days, I want to give in to fear. I want to unhook gravity’s hold upon my thoughts and let myself sink into its depths, like a stone falling to the bottom of a pond.

On those days, I know what I must do to stem the waves of fear, to unravel my confusion, to make sense of all that is happening in the world around me.

I rise up.

I rise up and immerse myself in the familiar. I greet the day with a smile, even if my smile feels weak. I pad about the house in my bare feet, even if the floor feels cold. I turn on the cappuccino maker. Put on a coat and shoes and take the dog out. I light the candle on my desk. Make a latte. Turn my music on. Low. Soft. Melodious. No words. Just gentle, soulful sounds of violin and piano. Cello and guitar.

It is what I must do to stem the fear, to push back the worry and confusion, to create space for compassion and grace to flow through the cracks of my resolve to remain present in each moment of this day.

Immersing myself in the familiar, I find peace of mind softly lifting my ennui, like the sun rising through the dark, gently lifting the fog floating along the surface of the river.

It is in the familiar I find my peace of mind gravitating towards that which sustains me. Fills me. Holds me. Embraces me.

And in the gravitational pull of the familiar, compassion and grace flow with ease. Love joins in the harmony of their dance, and I rise up.

I rise up. I  give thanks. I pray. And Love flows in and I find the courage to greet the day with a soft and welcoming smile.

Namaste.

 

Fear beckons. I choose Love.

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I scour the newsfeeds, as if my search will lead me to the thing I seek the most. Hope.

It isn’t there. At least, I can’t feel it beneath the fear that rises up to grip me.

I do not want to feel the fear and instead, turn to my studio, as if in immersing myself there, I will discover hope rising.

I still feel lost in my fear of the fear that stalks me.

I lose myself in a book, as if the words lining the page will somehow make sense of what is happening in the world around me.

I lose my place in the words I read again and again. My eyes blurring with fatigue and worry of fear’s tight grip.

I numb my senses in a Netflix series, as if the ongoing drama of fictitious characters will somehow help me find my place in all that is going on in the world around me.

I cannot stop what is going on in the world around me. I struggle to free myself from this place where fear threatens to drown me.

Holding my breath as if underwater, I fear I have nowhere to go.

I let go of fear. I take a breath. And then another. Life-giving oxygen fills my lungs. Fills my being. Fear diminishes. Courage rises.

I dive deep into myself, breathing into the beauty of this moment where the river flows endlessly towards a distant sea.

Above its steely grey surface, I watch a family of three walking with their dog across the bridge. The leash is held in their child’s hand, taut. The dog pulls. The child rushes to keep up. The dad rushes to help his child. There is fear in his quick steps. I cannot hear them but I can see the child’s laughter. The child’s joyful insistence that they keep hold of the leash. The dog pulls, urging the child to keep going. The child runs after the dog. Laughing. The parents join hands and follow.

I breathe in the joy of this tiny moment played out upon the bridge and feel the heaviness of my fear lighten up.

I watch two geese skim the surface of the river, honking loudly in their flight. Their wings expand and they fly up into the still chilly air of this April morning where spring hides high above in a clear blue sky. A cold front is passing slowly, ever so slowly, through. In the presence of the geese returning from southern lands, I am reminded, this too shall pass. Spring will blossom.

My heart lifts with the expansiveness of the geese taking flight and I feel life flow throughout my being present in their passing by. There is hope here. This too shall pass.

Held in still, soulful silence in the deepness of this present moment, I watch two squirrels chase each other up and down and all-around a tree trunk. They are fearless in their wild flight from tree limb to tree limb. My heart beats wildly. There is joy in their animal kingdom style game of tag.

I smile with them. My heart beats freely. Joy is here. Laughter. Fearlessness. Life.

I scoured the headlines searching for hope.

It wasn’t there.

It is here. Silently flowing all around me and deep within me. It flows like the river, carrying me always deeper into this present moment where the eternal beauty of life fills me up and I flow fearlessly in its embrace over the threshold of this moment, into the next.

And in each moment, I take a deep, life-giving breath and find myself lovingly held within the beauty of this moment right now.

This moment in which love flows freely.

I searched the headlines this morning looking for hope. I found only fear lurking between the black and white words and numbers blurred into incomprehensible statistics beneath my tears.

I wanted to give in to fear. I wanted to dive deep into hopelessness.

Instead, I chose to follow the thread of the river to where it leads me deep within to that sacred place where all I need to sustain my peace of mind in these days of turmoil and grief is that which is ever-constant, ever-flowing. Love.

I wanted to give in to fear this morning.

I choose Love.

 

_____________

I am sharing this with the Tuesday Photo Challenge as the word this week is Hope. Without hope of this pandemic’s end, the future would be grim.

 

 

 

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Dear God

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When I was a little girl, aside from the images of God in the beautiful paintings that adorned the pages of the Bible my mother made us children read every week, my image of God was of a giant hand coming down from the heaven’s above, to chastise and control me.

God knew everything, my mother said. So, whether or not I wanted to tell her the truth, God knew. One day I’d pay the price for my transgressions. Which according to her (and the rest of my family) were many.

I know my mother meant well. I know she was trying to ‘bring me up right’. To be a God-fearing woman one day.

And therein lay the rub. I never wanted to fear God. I wanted to know Love.

As a child, I couldn’t understand why, if God saw and knew everything before it happened, he’d let bad things happen. Wouldn’t it be in his best interests and the best interests of the world to stop the bad before it got a whole lot worse?

Which is why I used to love to write letters to God. I figured that if he knew everything, he’d definitely be able to answer my questions. So, I’d painstakingly print him long rambling letters on lined paper, struggling to ensure each letter was perfectly formed.

It seldom was. At least, not well enough to gain my mother’s unconditional approval. In fact, she was somewhat askance at my letter writing efforts. “You can’t say that to God,” she’d admonish me. “He won’t like it.”

Which is where I kept running into confusion. If God loved me unconditionally wouldn’t he accept my childish queries with Love and no judgement?

According to my mother, God didn’t like smart alecs.

Now, I’m not trying to paint a picture of my mother as bad. She most definitely wasn’t. In her world, brought up by an ultra-Catholic mother, God was to be revered. Not questioned. God was to be obeyed. Not challenged.

I had other ideas. I liked to question everything (and yes, it drove her crazy). I was curious and stubborn, never accepting the answers I was given as anything other than an opening to my next question.

In the case of God, I didn’t think blind faith was a good enough reason to toe the religious line. I thought God, or in my vernacular today, the Divine, was greater than that.

I’m all grown up now. Well kind of. I even have a label, “senior citizen”  (though that particular designation is a relatively new phenomenon in my life and, to be frank, one I am still surprised to witness when I look into the mirror).

These days, however, it is that label that is causing me concern. Senior citizens are one of the groups at higher risk of experiencing complications should they contract Covid-19. My beloved, who is a few years older than me, is at even greater risk because of an underlying health condition.

This morning, as I lay in bed in that space between awake and dreaming, I wrote a letter to God, just as I did as a child.

My vision of ‘God’ is different today than my childhood imaginings. Much of what I was taught way back then has gone by the wayside as I rose from those childhood pews and surrendered my fear of God to Love.

Which ultimately, is what my mother taught me – to always believe in the transformational power of Love.

It doesn’t matter the times, Love is always present, and if I am to believe my mother, so is God.

Dear God,

Your people are suffering. Many of them are dying. This world that was created with such Love, this world that is filled with so much beauty and wonder, is in pain.

We need you. Now more than ever, we need you and your battalion of angels to swoop down and sweep away this virus that is killing off so many of our humankind.  

I know that death is a continuation of life, but dear God, these tears, this pain and anger, it is killing the human spirit. Decimating whole families, communities, countries. It is killing more than just your people God, it is killing our faith in tomorrow, our belief in the sacredness of life and our trust in Love.

Dear God, I know it is not your way to interfere in the daily workings of the world, that we have free will so that we can make our own choices, come what may. But honestly God, none of us would have knowingly, consciously chosen this pestilence. None of us want our loved ones to suffer alone and die alone. None of us want this. We don’t know what to do, and it is the unknown that is hurting us all.

Dear God, please have mercy on this suffering world. We need you and now, more than ever, we need Love. Because only Love can stop our pain. Only Love can quell our fear. And only Love can heal our broken hearts.

In Love,

 

Your human who believes in the power of Love.

_______________________________________

Please note. These are my thoughts. My beliefs. My way of understanding the world.

I am not challenging your faith, belief or religious practices. I am sharing what I feel, believe and hold true for me.

My beliefs may be different than yours, but that does not make us enemies. We may kneel before different altars, we may sit in different pews, but no matter where in the world we are, or what we believe, we are all one humanity.

I would love to hear your views, different or otherwise. It is our differences that make each life so unique and cherished. It is how we honour one another with loving-kindness, in all our differences, that makes all the difference in the world.

Namaste.

Love. Sweet Love.

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This morning I cried. I cried and let my tears fall unchecked by thoughts of why I needed to stop and pull myself together.

These tears do not pull me down. They do not pull me apart.
They set me free.

Free to love myself and all the world. Free to love these tears of sorrow, of grief, of sadness, of anxiety, of fear.

These tears are for me, for you, for our city, country, world.
They are tears for all humankind as we journey together while staying apart, through this pandemic that is radically changing the world as we knew. They are tears for heartbeats stopped and lives slipping away as the world keeps turning and the virus keeps spreading.

Last night, on a zoom call with a couple of friends, I mentioned how I was struggling to stay positive.

Well, you can’t be positive all the time, one of my friends suggested.

She’s right.

There is no virtual wall of positivity strong enough to keep my emotions dammed up. They must be released. Tears are the pathway to my heart beating free of fear.

Fearlessly breathing with all my heart, I find myself drawn by courage to ask, “What does the world need now?”

This morning I cried and allowed my tears to flow freely. In their release, my heart opened and I flowed freely into the sacred intimacy of the moment, without fear, without trepidation. Embraced by the sacredness of ‘the now’, my tears washed down my cheeks and I sank into the deep still waters of life flowing around and within me.

It was there that the answer to my tears arose.  “What the world needs now, is Love. Sweet Love.”

In this crazy-messed up, virus-bewildered world, there is so little I can give or do to relieve the pressure we all feel in this time of Covid-19.

And so, I give all that I can. Love.

I give you Love.

I have Love for you.

It is the only medicine I can carry into the darkness of these days where uncertainty grapples with my peace of mind as I struggle to find my balance in the turmoil of the unknown.

Love.

It is all that I have to share with those who are sick, those who have lost someone they love, those who are struggling to save lives, to care for lives, to take care of all of us sequestered in solitude in our homes.

Love is all I can give those who are scared. Lonely. Fearful of their next breath. Fearful of their next touch.

Love.

I give you my Love this morning. I give you my Love, always.

It may not stop this virus from sweeping across our planet, but Love is the only thing that can transform the fear that stalks our every breath into something we can hold onto so that we can all breathe freely.

Love. Sweet Love.

Namaste.

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