“Perhaps you should just give the stuff away,” I tell my friend JD. “If I haven’t missed what you’ve got, I don’t need to know what you’ve got.”

JD and her husband AJ had dropped by on their way home from a weekend at Mount Assiniboine Lodge. We’d had an impromptu dinner and as they were leaving JD had mentioned she had some dishes and things that belong to me. “I’ll bring them over” she said.

Having spent the past two weeks unpacking boxes and organizing ‘stuff’, I am convinced, we have too much stuff.

“How is this possible,” I ask my beloved C.C. as I unpack yet another box of dishes. “I know we love to entertain, but this is getting ridiculous.”

I have two sets of white everyday dishes. A set of summer plates. Formal dinnerware. A dinner set for 16. Plus a couple of other sets of informal plateware, just for those fun occasions when I feel like changing it up.

Too much stuff is cluttering up my life, and filling my cupboards!  It’s time to get serious about unloosening the stuff of life that is keeping me stuck in believing I need it to feel ‘good, or happy, or complete — not sure what the seed of the reason is for all my stuff – I do know that all my stuff is acting like a grit of sand in an oyster shell. Except, chewing on it is not going to create a pearl of beauty. It will only create unease.

Robert Brault wrote, “I am never five minutes into stripping the clutter from my life before I start running into the clutter that is my life.”

In essence, the clutter is our lives.

As I unpack, and make choices as to what to keep and what to divest myself of, I ask myself, “Do I want this [object] to be a reflection of my life?”

It makes it easier to choose between holding onto something or letting it go, to think of it as a ‘thing’ that reflects my life.

Sometimes, I might hold an object and remember good times spent with it or the person who gave it to me, but then, I must ask… “Are the memories of this object overriding the truth? Do I need this?”

It also makes it easier if I ask myself whether or not the [object] brings me joy. It is in those moments I transcend the clutter of my life to realize, objects don’t bring me joy. Joy is found in the living of life. In the decluttering, in the unpacking, in the moving furniture around, when I focus on the joy of doing versus the pain, I find myself feeling at home, no matter where I am or how much stuff surrounds me.

I am unpacking and into decluttering right now (I can feel my daughters dancing as they read this — they have long held that I have too much ‘clutter’ in my life and need to invest time in ‘Swedish Death Cleaning’!). Swedish Death Cleaning isn’t about getting rid of things I do not need. It’s about creating beauty in my life where the things I do possess have room to breathe and be appreciate. It’s about acknowledging that one day, if I don’t do this now, my daughters will have to do it for me. Why would I put that burden on them?

Margareta Magnusson writes in The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning:

“Old people seem to think that time goes so quickly, but in fact it is we who have become slower.”

I am not ‘old’ but I’m getting there! No matter my age, or speed of ageing, what I need is a simpler, more clean-lined way of living. Decluttering is the first step. And now is the perfect time before ‘the stuff’ takes up residence and space in our new home.

Namaste.

In the midst of a heated discussion, or a fearful moment, or an uncomfortable conversation, it can be easy to let go of the things that create value in your life. Like loving kindness and compassion.

No matter the weather or what is happening around you, be like a mother bird returning to her nest. Carry thoughts of  loving kindness and compassion to feed your next words, steps, actions just as she carries food to feed her chicks. When you feed your spirit and heart loving kindness and compassion, you create gentle ripples of Love that wash away the pain and fear and doubt of being human.

And when you forget, or the heat of the moment sweeps you away from the path of loving kindness and compassion, soften your heart, forgive yourself and begin again.

Spring arrived yesterday, its presence covered in a cloak of white snow and melting ice. It slipped in without much change in the weather, though radio announcers and endless FB postings heralded its approach.

It was a long, snowy winter.

Somewhere, beneath the blanket of white that covers the ground, seeds lay curled up in frozen earth waiting for the warm rays of the sun to penetrate the outer shell of their pods.

And though winter still lays visible, the river is thawing. It flows more quickly down the centre line, breaking up the ice and snow that has covered its surface for many months. The river thaws from the middle out. Constantly widening its reach until, eventually, its shores will no longer be hidden beneath a white frozen blanket. Soon, I hope. Soon.

The robins have not yet returned. Buds yearning to burst into blossom from swollen pods adorning branches have not yet appeared.

But spring is in the air. And in the breath of spring’s promise, we live in this yearning time. Hoping. Praying. Believing. Spring will not just be a page turning on the calendar. It will be visible in blossoms bursting out from tree branches touching a clear blue sky. In leaves dappled with sunlight dancing in a delicate breeze. In crocus heads poking up from the warming earth.

Soon, I hope. Soon.

The days are growing longer.

Earth is awakening.

It is time to dance.

To dance in the early morning darkness that has not yet become light.

In the puddles filling in the spaces between the ridges of snow and ice that cover paths and roadways.

In the promise of longer days coming as the earth orbits around the sun to bring its rays closer to our northern hemisphere, warming the earth from winter’s grip.

It is time to dance and cast off winter garb. To don fresh bold colours of spring. To open windows and sweep out the debris of cold nights spent lazing in front of the fire.

It is time to spring into action and live fiercely in the lengthening light of the sun. To be like the river, letting the sun’s warm rays spread out and warm you up all the way to your fingertips and toes.

It is time to cast off memories of ‘what was’ and dance in the light of what is true today.

Spring has arrived. Newness awakens. Anything is possible.

Let’s dance with the pure joy of being alive.

Let’s dance in the light of love spreading out from each beating heart. From each burst of laughter shared. From each blossoming thought becoming a loving awareness that knows with all its heart and soul, “This is my one precious life. Let me live it now; fiercely, fearlessly, freely. Let me express myself like a bird in flight, like a flower pushing up through the earth, like a leaf dancing in the wind. Let my expression of my life be a celebration of my life lived in the promise of spring.”

Let’s dance.

______________

Photo by Alena Koval from Pexels

“In a time of anger or despair, even if we feel overwhelmed, our love is still there.
Our capacity to communicate, to forgive, to be compassionate is still there.
You have to believe this.
We are more than our anger, we are more than our suffering.
We must recognize that we do have within us the capacity to love, to understand, to be compassionate, always.”

~ Thich Nhat Hanh

I read the beautiful quote above at Val Boydo’s “Find Your Middle Ground” blog this morning.

Oh look… Beaumont’s not here. I am!

It reminded me of the practice to ‘see’ my emotions as being something present in that moment, but not the entirety of who I am. That when I’m feeling anger, or pain, or despair, to quietly repeat to myself:

“Oh look. Anger is here… So is love.”

“Oh look. Despair is here… So is love.”

“Oh look. Pain is here… So is love.”

The practice is based on the belief that Love is always present. In bad times and in good. Love is always present.

When we remind ourselves that, even in the darkness the light of Love is shining, we create space for possibility, for hope, for light to appear. In its appearance, we build a path forward, knowing that yes, these emotions are present, and in time, this too shall pass.

Try it. The next time you’re feeling down, or feeling angry or like the world is just too much to take or too confusing to understand, name what you’re feeling. Acknowledge its presence by saying, “Oh look. [name the emotion(s)] is here. (pause) So is Love.”

Repeat often.

Namaste.

“Where are you right now?”

I realize how off track I was as soon as I hear C.C., my beloved, ask the question. We have invited friends for an impromptu dinner. They’ve been to the condo we’ve rented while renovating our new house before, but it can be tricky to find.

When my girlfriend called to ask, “So how do we find your place again?” I’d immediately leapt to giving directions without first clarifying, “Where are you right now?”

Definitely off track.

In life, no matter where we’re going, to get clear on our path, we need to know where we are starting from.

My directions only confused her until C.C. took over and made it simple. He asked the question and then confirmed, “You’re on the right track. Just keep driving along that road and you’ll see our place on the left, just past the community hall.”

Within minutes they were at our door and we spent a delightful evening sharing food, wine, laughter and watching the Ice Dance Competition at the Olympics.

And I wonder, how often do I do that? Forget to ask the questions before leaping into fix-it mode or jumping to conclusions.

Note to self. When someone’s lost or seeking direction, or when I’m searching for my way, seek clarity first. Understand the situation. Get clear on where I’m at or the direction they’re coming from. Don’t be too quick to jump to the rescue or leap to a conclusion. Or, as stated in Steven Covey’s Fifth Habit in The Seven Habits of Highly Successful People, “Seek first to understand then to be understood.”

Words to live by.

He was nine when he remembers the war coming for the first time. It was how he said it, “I was nine the first time I remember when the war came.”

When the war came.

I had never heard it said that way. I think of men going to war. Of soldiers never coming back. But never of the war coming to me. To my family. My home. My city.

For Sam, the war came to him and his family. It came to his neighbours’ homes. To his city. His country. The war came and he hid. In a basement. All night. All day. “We’d be allowed out sometimes for a couple of hours during the day. For sunlight. To get food. Water. We weren’t allowed to play. You don’t play during war,” he said.

The second time the war came he was about fourteen. And then nineteen. “By then, I didn’t much care about the war,” he said as he clipped and shaped my hair, “I didn’t think about it. It came. It went. I knew it would come back. I tried not to think about it. It just was.”

He had to join the military. “I didn’t like that at all,” he said. “I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t fit in.”

“I couldn’t figure out why we had an army anyway,” he added. “We didn’t really have any guns. We didn’t want to have a war.”

He clipped a bit more hair. In the mirror, I watched his hands deftly wielding the scissors. His shaggy black hair. Full lips. Deep brown eyes. EArly thirties, handsome. But his shoulders are hunched. His chest curled forward, huddled over his stomach. I think of a turtle crouched in its shell protecting its soft body.

His eyes are downcast. He concentrates on his job. Stops. Punctuates a comment with his hands. The scissors snipping at air.

“They made us march. And line up. It was so tedious.” Snip. Snip.

“I was lucky. The war came back the year after I left the army.” Pause. “I’m glad I was gone from the army. I could not have killed another man.”

Snip. Snip.

“It is wrong what happened. I was just a boy. I should have been playing with my friends. Kicking a ball around. Instead, I hid out. Eventually, it became normal.”

The war kept coming back. “The last time the war came, my mother and cousins left for safer places. My father and I, we didn’t leave. It was our home. We couldn’t leave it.”

Snip. Snip.

And then they had no choice. They had to leave.

“I don’t want to be at war. I don’t want to fight. I want to get married. Raise children. Have a family.” He paused. His hands stopped moving. His body stilled. “I want to have peace.”

For Sam, war came and drove him from the arms of his family. It tore him from those he loves to send him half way around the world to a land he’d never been, a city he’d never heard of before. It took him from the sea he loves, a city, for all its war torn streets, that was familiar to him, a place he called home. It took him away and deposited him here, in a cold and northern clime.

It drove him to a place where ‘war doesn’t come’. And for that he is grateful.

I pray it never does. Come to him again, or me, or anyone I love, or anyone in the world. And I know my prayers are already unanswered. There are wars/conflicts taking place right now. I can name a few. Libya. Syria. Afghanistan. Nigeria. l know so little about war. I do not want to know more.

Perhaps, it is not time to speak out against war, but to speak up for peace. For that which keeps lives and families intact. For that which keeps us safe.

Peace.

It can only come when war comes no longer. For with every mother’s child who dies, a seed of sorrow, of anger, of hatred is sown.

War gives birth to animosity. To tears of sorrow. To future wars.

Let us give birth to possibility. To love and hope and joy and peace. Let us put down arms and for Love’s sake, let us stand up for peace.