Category Archives: Essential Journey

There’s only one way up from the bottom!

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how do I copyPerhaps it’s happened. I have reached the nadir of my blogging journey. The ideas have faded. The thoughts vanished. The words evaporated. Maybe I am in a writer’s block? That place where words clump together and an inspiring thought cannot be found?

There’s only one thing to do. ‘Cause, if I’m in the pit, there’s only one way out and that’s UP!

These thoughts lazily drifted through my mind this morning as my fingers touched the keyboard and my eyes looked at the tiny cursor blinking on my screen.

Fill me in, it seemed to be calling. And my mind responded, “With what?”

It doesn’t happen often — that I sit down at my computer in the morning and find myself bereft of a theme, of an idea, or a thought to wrap words around and let the muse have her way with their formation.

Usually, the theme rises out of something that transpired over the previous day, or a fragment of a dream catches my awakening attention, or a lyric of a song sticks with me begging me to noodle away at wondering what it means, or, while reading something sticks and my yellow highlight pen gets even busier as I circle and frame and really, really draw my attention to a particular idea.

And then, as I write that, I remember so many ideas that captured my attention over the weekend.

I’m not sure if it was a song lyric, a piece of a news article or just my mind’s habitual wondering but at one point, I started writing in my journal about the times I’ve left places, people, situations, and how, in the moment of leaving I was really more afraid than feeling brave. I couldn’t see into the future. I knew the present wasn’t working and I knew change was necessary. But… to get to change I had to go through the pain of leaving ‘the now’. And I was scared. Yet, if I could know then what I know now, I might not have given so much energy to clinging to the now of what was, because no matter how hard it was to leave, my life today is a reflection of going through that change. And I love my life today…

“I remember when I left…”

I was also inspired by Ian Munroe over at Leading Essentially who wrote about teams and leadership. Ian just graduated from the Hudson Institute where he took his Coaching Certification and wrote an inspiring recap of what made the course and experience so brilliant.

“What makes a leader?”

Of course, Leigh at Not Just Sassy on the Inside always inspires my thinking and gets the muse fired up, especially with her two-part series on Managing Manna. I love reading Leigh’s posts because she always inspires thinking that begins with “I wonder?”…

“I wonder if I am balanced in my energy? What if I focus my attention on ‘the ask’ of the outpouring of my energy? What if, I get really, really conscious of the ebb and flow of my creative expressions to the point where what I am opening up to in the universe is a reflection of my capacity to receive?”

Val Boyko at Find Your Middle Ground inspired my thinking over the weekend too. She wrote about finding inner piece by moving away from struggle and resistance through what Tara Brach in her article at one of my favourite websites, Spirituality and Practice calls, The Sacred Pause. Val’s words gave rise to the question…

“In this moment right now, what am I feeling?”

There were others. A song on the radio. In particular, Bastille’s Pompeii with the refrain,

“But if you close your eyes,
Does it almost feel like
Nothing changed at all?”

“How often do I just close my eyes and pretend everything stays the same?”

A road-sign warning of construction ahead that had traffic slowed to a crawl, yet, at the point where all the orange pylon’s directed two traffic lanes into one, there is not a construction vehicle, a worker, nothing to suggest that construction is taking place. Really?

“Why does a five minute slow down in traffic feel like FOREVER? Seriously? Have you ever been caught at a red light forrrr eveeer?”  I didn’t think so.

So many ideas floating around in my mind. So many opportunities to explore and adventure into.

Why did I begin fearing what might not appear when I know if I simply trust in the process and let go of fear, all will be well?

Why is it that even when I know that grace is always present, I still cling to the belief she’s abandoned me?

Which reminds me of my daughter, Alexis, who has started writing again at her blog How I Survived Myself (YEAH!) In her new post titled, Be Love, she writes about reassuring a man on the elevator that he wasn’t stupid, as he claimed, just because he took the down elevator when he needed to go up. “How often do we say things about ourselves that rob us of our happiness, destroy our intimacy and connection with others, and steal the possibility of self-acceptance?”, Alexis writes. Which begs the question…

“How do I love me?”

And now that I’ve put all this wonderment together, I have lots of ideas to carry me up out of the pit of believing there’s nothing left to explore.

Isn’t life amazing?

I love it!

 

And… for your entertainment!

 

 

Dream big. Live large. Be inspired.

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dream big copyPassion.

There was a time when I thought passion was reserved for lovers. That only people involved in an intimate relationship knew what passion was.

I love it when I’m proved wrong!

Passion is what I strive to step into every day — even on days like today when the skies are grey and the sun is hiding!

Passion is the force behind my dreams. It’s the energy behind getting the most out of my life, every moment of every day. It’s my life source.

Passion keeps me committed to awakening every morning with a song in my heart. It lightens my spirit and drives me to courageously step forward throughout the day asking myself in everything I do, “Does this create more of what I want in my life, or less?”

Passion fires me up.

Some time ago, while creating a dreamchart of my “Ultimate Life”, I asked myself, what can I do in this moment to inject passion into my dreams.

The answer was easy. Remind myself of my purpose — to touch hearts and open minds to set spirits free. In a nutshell, to live an inspiring life right now. That means, to quit looking at tomorrow as the time I’ll be perfect, or have everything I want or need. It means, to stop thinking about doing it tomorrow — but rather — getting to it today!

When I’m passionate about me, I’m passionate about my life and everyone and everything in it. I live, breathe, exude my passion.

When I’m on fire, my world lights up and I take off and soar through every moment, confident, positive, convinced in my right to claim this place, right where I’m at, as my rightful, deserving place under the sun.

When I’m passionate about me, I step into the moment of being all I’m meant to be and let go of wishful thinking, yearning and pining for a better tomorrow. When I’m passionate about me, I live in this moment being completely, absolutely accepting of who I am because I know, I’m one powerful woman living the life of her dreams, right now.

Do you know your passions? Are you passionate about you?

Some questions you can ask yourself to understand your passions are:

1. What do I love to do for other people?
2. What is it people tell me about me that makes me feel proud, happy, that makes my heart sing?
3. What do I do that makes time stop? Makes me lose all sense of time?
4. What do I love doing most in the world?
5. Am I happiest helping people or creating things that help people?
6. Do I have special gifts or talents that I love to share? What are they?
7. If I can’t think of any special gift or talent I possess — if I did have one, what would it be?

Sit quietly, ask yourself these questions and write down your answers. Don’t judge what you write, just write down what comes to you. Let the answers flow. Don’t worry about punctuation. Grammar. Spelling. Just write it down. Don’t let your inner critic stifle your creativity. Flow.

Once you’ve completed the questions, look for the pattern in your answers. Look to find what speaks to your heart.

For me, I love to help people find their purpose, their passion, their inner beauty.
I love it when people tell me I inspire them.
Time stops for me when I’m writing, and painting.
Anything creative makes time stand still as I immerse myself in the joy of what I’m doing. I love writing, painting, creating.
For me, I’m happiest creating things that help people, bring joy to them. I love creating words that sing to people’s hearts, that ease their pain, and ignite their thinking.
I love to share my writing. My words. My spirit.

See, it’s easy. Go for it. Let your thoughts flow. Let your imagination soar. Get creating.

Everyone has passion. Everyone has a purpose. Everyone has dreams. Living the life of your dreams is the gift you give yourself when you free your mind of the untruths that would keep you from being inspired by the beauty and wonder of you!

Dream big. Live large and be inspired to create the life of your dreams.

Can I give you a hug?

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She wanted more hugs in her life but didn’t know where to get them. She lives alone. Drives a milk truck and is always alone. Where to find hugs?

She couldn’t very well ask the farmers whose milk she picks up. They’ve already been at their chores and are having breakfast by the time she drives into their yards. Aside from the cows and other farm animals, there’s nobody around in the morning when she is out and about doing her job.

So she decided to ask the man at the depot where she delivers the milk. She knew he might think it strange. She knew he might think her weird, but she didn’t care. She knew what she wanted and she knew the only way to get it was to ask for it.

Her round completed, the truck container full, April climbed down out of her truck one morning as the dispatcher came out to greet her. She took a deep breath. She was nervous, and determined.

She smiled (she always smiles, it is her nature), and explained what she wanted.

“A hug?” he asked.

“Yes. I want more hugs in my life. It’s important to me. And you’re the only person I see in the morning.”

The dispatcher looked at her. Thought about it for a moment, shrugged his shoulders and said, “Sure. Why not?”

Three months later, the dispatcher and April start and end their morning conversation with a hug. When her truck pulls up, he is there, every morning, waiting to hug. And other drivers are doing it too. Greeting each with more than just a nod of the head. They’re hugging each other.

April’s first request that started with a ‘Why not” response, has turned into a morning of hugs. Of other workers coming out to greet her and hug her when she arrives. It’s resulted in hugs being shared everywhere. Of fathers going home to hug their children. Of wives greeting their husbands with a hug. Of co-workers acknowledging one another and hugging to seal their pact of mutual respect and connection.

A hug may not save the world, but it sure can strengthen our connections. It sure can change our attitudes. It sure can bring us closer together.

April shared this story on Friday night of the Givers 2 weekend — Givers 2 is the second weekend trainees from the Choices program where I’ve been coaching since Wednesday, come back to complete the training. It is a weekend that focuses on communication — and the crafting of each individual’s ‘Purpose Statement’ on Sunday afternoon. On Friday night, in preparation for Sunday’s big event, trainees are asked to share ‘The Best Thing that’s happened to me since Choices and Givers 1.”

This was the story April shared. Inspired by her story, I asked her if I could share it here to which she responded, “If it inspires others to hug more, why not?”

Why not indeed?

When I went through Choices 8 years ago, I wasn’t much of a hugger.  I had a belief, somewhere inside me, that hugs were not okay. That hugs were scary. That people didn’t really want to get that close. That hugging them would scare them. Or offend them. Or make them mad.

I was wrong.

We are all looking for connection. And hugs are a simple way to connect.

Give one. You automatically get one back. Give two. Get two back. And so it goes.

Alexis, my eldest daughter, when asked by a panhandler if she had any change to spare, once replied, “Can’t help you in the finance department, but I have a hug if you want one.”

“Pardon?” he asked.

“A hug,” she replied. “I have no change but I have a hug.”

His face broke into a smile. “Really?” he asked incredulously. “Yeah. I’ll take one.”

And she wrapped her arms around his worn coat and for a moment, they were both just two human beings standing heart to heart.

There is power in connecting heart to heart with our fellow human beings. A hug has been proven to lower blood pressure. To improve happiness levels.

Try it. Ask someone you work with, someone you live with, someone you meet if they would like to connect heart to heart. Ask, “Can I give you a hug?” or, like April, if you’re seeking more hugs, ask for what you want.

Giving is receiving. In the process of giving a hug, you’ll both experience in the reciprocal nature of a hug. What could be better than that?

And if you don’t really think a hug can make a difference, check out this article HERE.

Go ahead. Try it. ask someone today if you can give them a hug and see what miracles happen.

(Thank you April and Alexis for letting me share your stories.)

 

 

The Enlightened thinking of Andrew Solomon

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This is not at all the post I intended when I sat down to write this morning. It can keep.

As I went in search of a link for a quote I wanted to share in my original post, I stumbled upon writer, Andrew Solomon’s, TEDMED 2013 talk:  Love, No Matter What.

Given that Love is Always the Answer is one of my beliefs, I could not resist clicking on the title of his talk.

Andrew begins his talk with these words,

“Even in purely non-religious terms, homosexuality represents a misuse of the sexual faculty. It is a pathetic little second-rate substitute for reality — a pitiable flight from life. As such, it deserves no compassion, it deserves no treatment as minority martyrdom, and it deserves not to be deemed anything but a pernicious sickness.” That’s from Time magazine in 1966.

Later, he quotes an article in The Atlantic Monthly, voice of liberal America — written by an important bioethicist who, in 1968, on the subject of Down syndrome children, said to millions of Americans,

“There is no reason to feel guilty about putting a Down syndrome child away, whether it is put away in the sense of hidden in a sanitarium or in a more responsible, lethal sense. It is sad, yes — dreadful. But it carries no guilt. True guilt arises only from an offense against a person, and a Down’s is not a person.”

I read Andrew’s first book, The Noonday Devil: An atlas of depression, a year after it was released in 2001. I was in the dark, dark, days of a relationship going very, very wrong. I knew I was in a depression. I didn’t know how to ‘get out of it’ and was searching for answers outside myself.  The answer to my depression was not ‘out there’. It was within me all along. It came from accepting I was not in a relationship of love gone wrong. I was in an abusive situation. It came from accepting I was abused. I did things I wasn’t proud, and I was still worthy of love. It came from acceptance of me, just the way I was, in all my warts, with all my Beauty and the Beast complexities. In acceptance, Love had room to flow. In Love, all things were possible, including loving myself even when I didn’t think I deserved it.

After devouring every word of his 20 minute TEDMED talk, I intend on reading his latest book, Far From The Tree.

Don’t tell anyone…. I’m hoping for rain this weekend so I can curl up and read!

Give yourself the gift of 20 minutes of enlightenment this morning with Andrew Solomon.

Dead minds don’t think

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Mountains touching sky
beetle marches unobserved
in prairie grasses.

The haiku wrote itself while I lay in savasana last night, my body gratefully giving itself over to ‘corpse pose’ after 75 minutes of hot yoga.

I know. I know.

Dead minds don’t think.

But my mind couldn’t help itself. When it wants to create, the muse awakens in the silence and has her way with me.

In my search for quiet mind, I wondered if I would remember the words, or even the fact that I had fallen into haiku thinking and, there it was this morning. The moment my fingertips hit the keyboard and I gave myself over to the process of writing, the words appeared.

I am amused.

I don’t recall ever being fascinated with writing haiku before. One month after hitting the yoga mat, my mind is stirring in unusual ways. Perhaps it isn’t a goddess awakening within me but a Buddha!

Somehow, the vision of a fat, chubby Buddha laughing and rubbing his belly in contentment is not as stimulating as a svelte, sensual goddess dancing with her seven veils unravelling my psyche.

Perhaps though, it is fitting.

Life is funny.

We humans are funny too.

Yesterday, a man I knew from my days of working at the homeless shelter, dropped into my office unexpectedly.

I’d run into him the day before and he’d asked if he could call. “I’d like to talk to you about writing my story,” he said.

And there he was, the very next day, standing in the lobby of our offices.

“I need to ask you something,” he said after I’d lead him into a private meeting room and sat down. “I’m in a real bind financially. Everything will unravel if I don’t get $500 today and put it in my bank account. If you lend it to me I can pay it back tomorrow.”

And he went on to explain his financial predicament.

I stopped him.

“You don’t have to tell me the intimate details of your story,” I told him gently. “I can’t lend you the money.” And then I gave him a suggestion on how to deal with his financial emergency.

Instantly, his entire being deflated. He looked lost. Frightened. My suggestion won’t work he told me because he had to pay the first $500 to someone else in order to borrow the next to pay off the second.

What happens when you get to your last person on the list? I asked.

I don’t know, he said. I haven’t got there yet.

When I worked at the shelter, one of my co-workers called it, The Hail Mary Solution.

Pray for a miracle. Pray that if you keep putting one more grain of sand on the pile it won’t all come tumbling down. And even though you know it can’t last, you keep adding one more grain, one more grain, building it up and up until that one grain is added that the pile can no longer sustain. And it all comes spilling down to earth.

Mountains soar to the sky. Prairie grasses blow in the wind. And there, at my feet, is a tiny beetle slowly crawling along the earth. Unnoticed, he is not concerned with what the mountains are doing. He doesn’t care if the grasses grow or the sky falls down. He is only concerned with his journey. Slowly, with intention, he keeps walking. One step in front of the other, moving forward.

I have spent many days piling sand, trying to fix a problem I’ve created by adding more of what I did to build it up.

It is only when I stop focussing on adding a grain of sand to keep the sandpile growing, that I start to awaken to what is evident right where I’m at. Grounded in my body, my feet firmly planted in the now of my being present, I discover the truth of where I’m going is not built on adding one mistake to another.

It’s created when I stop doing what I’m doing that isn’t working, and start becoming aware and accountable for what I’m doing – and choose to stop destroying my path with steps in the wrong direction.

A man asked to borrow $500 yesterday. In his request, I was given the gift of awakening. No matter if part of me wanted to help him. No matter if part of me wanted to relieve his immediate anxiety so that he would feel better, it wouldn’t have helped. The relief would have been fleeting.

And in its passing, we might both have been swept away in the tsunami of the sandpile spilling down to the earth.

 

There is no separation between mind and body.

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If I Knew Then... Art Journal Cover Mixed Media

If I Knew Then…
Art Journal Cover
Mixed Media

river  flowing forward
dawn breaks 
darkness falls back

I am on my mat. Body bent in child’s pose, forehead touching mat, posterior reaching for heels, arms outstretched above my head. Torso pressing down towards the earth.

I am a supplicant bowing before the altar. I am a priestess offering up her prayers. I am hot and sweaty and I am crying.

They are unexpected these tears. Not particularly welcome either. Who cries in a yoga class?

My eldest daughter tells me it’s not unusual. Yoga touches the core. At the core, emotions flow and when released, can express themselves through tears.

Yeah? Well I don’t cry in public.

Good thing my forehead is pressed to the mat.  Good thing I’m sweating so profusely. No one will be able to see my tears.

I replay the teacher’s words through my mind once again.

“The body needs the mind to be engaged. They need each other for strength, courage, balance…. Where the mind goes, the body follows.”

Even as I type the words, I can feel the emotional tug of recognition, remembrance, awakening.

My body and my mind. I have treated them as separate. Independent. They have continually battled for voice. To be heard. To be recognized. To be known — as independent. The mind fighting for control, the body fighting to lead the way, to take charge, to be in charge.

Connect. Make peace. Body bows to mind. Mind makes way for body.

I imagine a bridge. Water flowing beneath. My mind wants to take the bridge, the route of safety. My body wants to swim. To immerse itself in the raging waters and go with the flow.

From above, the water looks dangerous. “Do not go in,” my know-it-all mind cautions. “You do not know what lies within. The current is too strong. You might drown.” And then it adds for good measure, “Someone built that bridge to make it easier. Why not take the path of least resistance?”

“I will never know what lies within if I do not venture,” my dare-it-all body responds, desperately trying to break free of mind’s control. “Anyone can cross a bridge. But to swim across, to tempt the fates, to venture into the depths, to discover what’s really there, ahhh, that takes courage. Fortitude. A spirit of adventure. A willingness to risk.”

“The bridge is there for a reason,” mind parries back. “The object is to reach the other side. It doesn’t matter how you get there, what matters is you get there.”

“I disagree,” yells body. “You always decide where we’re going but I am the one who carries us there. I am the one who decides how we take the journey.”

And they duke it out on the safe side of the river, the distant shore forgotten in their fight for freedom from one another.

And the water keeps flowing and I keep holding back from stepping away from the shore where I am comfortable in what I know to be true. Whether I step onto the bridge, or enter the waters, it isn’t about how I take the journey, it is that I take it with mind and body engaged, each one supporting, loving, carrying and caring for the other.

To live means to risk. It requires stepping into the unknown. Pushing against boundaries, forging new trails.

Many years ago, Henry David Thoreau wrote, “Pursue some path, however narrow and crooked, in which you can walk with love and reverence.”

And I remember what I have forgotten in my flight and fight to get to the other side.

On the journey, no matter where I am going, there is only one thing that carries me across, through and over. There is only one thing I need to carry to wade into the waters or step onto the safety of the bridge.

Love.

In Love, I am safe no matter where I go or how I travel.

In Love, body and mind travel united.

In Love, all things are possible.

I bent my head to the mat. Tears flowed and I found myself once again, flowing in Love.

 

 

 

Speaking the Truth is not always a cake walk

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On the second weekend of the Choices journey, (Givers 1) we talk about the 6 points of power:

  1. Pay Attention
  2. Speak the Truth
  3. Be Responsible for YOUR Life (be accountable)
  4. Ask for what you want
  5. Keep YOUR Agreements
  6. Create Value in ALL things

Speaking the Truth can be challenging. For me, the fear of rejection, my fear that someone won’t like me, or will be angry with what I have to say kept me from speaking up and standing comfortably with my boundaries intact. Because my boundaries used to be so weak and permeable, I continually compromised on my truth and subsequently, lived someone else’s truth. In that process, I became more fearful, not less.

For me, speaking my truth is about lovingly standing my ground without fearing the other person’s reactions. I am not responsible for how people respond. I trust myself to be responsible for and with my words. I trust others to be responsible as well. My trust is not based on their actions, but on my ability to discern how their words and actions affect me. When I respond negatively to someone, it is not a reflection of them. It is something in me that is creating that response. My responsibility is to honour what it is in me by taking appropriate action. It is my responsibility to be true to my values, principles and beliefs.

When I speak my truth, I do not have the right to hurt nor harm someone else. My truth is not a stick with which I bludgeon others. My truth is not a knife with which to spear someone else’s heart in order to open them up to me.

My truth is a reflection of me. How I speak it is a reflection of who I am, my values, principles and beliefs.

When I am angry, my truth reflects my emotion, not my being. I have the right to my anger, I never have the right to be cruel.

Several years ago I managed an organization where the principle was extremely abusive. He believed that it was okay to berate staff, to scream and yell for what he wanted, to threaten dire consequences when he didn’t get it.

I didn’t believe the same things.

For six months, I worked hard to keep staff from feeling the brunt of this man’s abusive behaviour. One of the things I did was organize a two day retreat with the core team to facilitate healing and communication. At the retreat, the principle committed to stop yelling, cursing and belittling staff. I committed to staying on board — with a caveat — if the behaviour continued, I would resign.

One day, shortly after the retreat, the principle started shouting and swearing at the staff in a meeting. I stood up and said, I do not accept this behaviour and I left.

In that instance of speaking my truth I was responsible for my actions and words. My truth was, I do not accept abusive behaviour. I could not change the man. I could not determine whether or not others chose to remain under his abuse. I was not that powerful. My power was in my capacity to make the changes I needed to honour my truth.

Inside me there was a voice that wanted to scream at this individual and rant and rave and really tear a strip off of him in front of his staff. While the momentary relief of doing that might have made me feel good, the truth is — that behaviour would have compromised my values, principles and beliefs.

I value courteous behaviour. I value common decency. I value respect.

I stand true to myself when I step lightly through each moment with dignity, grace and respect. When the footprints I leave are filled with love and do not become potholes for others to fall into.

I believe I am responsible for every thought, word I speak, action I take.

I believe I am responsible for my own happiness. And I trust others to be responsible for theirs.

I believe the world is a place of infinite possibility and beauty.

I believe it is up to me to create it in my own life and to lovingly share my light so that the world around me is illuminated with love that will inspire others to step joyfully through their days — regardless of the weather.

When I stand comfortably in my truth, I am standing in love. In love, I do not hurt others. I do not retaliate unkindly. I lovingly state what is true for me, and do not give myself up to make their truth mine.

There are no boundaries to speaking truth as long as we remember, there is truth in everything, but not all things are true. In our truth is the only place we can stand to live free of fear that our truth is not enough.

We are enough.

In all our truth.

***************

Thank you RH for the inspiration for today’s blog.

What will you carry?

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Art Journal Theme 4: Gratitude

Art Journal Theme 4: Gratitude

The plumber arrived last night. Again. Finally. With the parts he’d ordered last week that finally arrived.

We have central heating again. Finally. After one week of no boiler. One week of layering up inside the house and limiting our movements to just the rooms where we had heaters running, we are warm and toasty in every room again.

I am grateful.

Not only for the plumbers arrival and the successful repair of our boiler, but also for the electricity that powered up the space heaters C.C. and I plugged in to keep the main level of our home warm.

I am grateful Old Man Winter took a hiatus from wrapping us up in frigid temps and gave us a break of near or above freezing for the past week.

I am grateful it wasn’t bitterly cold and we had to worry about freezing pipes.

I am grateful it was only a week.

Imagine if it was the entire winter. Or that we didn’t have electricity. Or a roof over our heads in the first place.

Imagine if we hadn’t been able to afford to plug in the heaters, or couldn’t cuddle up together and watch TV, or play Crib, or read a book in the relative comfort of space-heater heated rooms.

Imagine.

There are so many things in my life I take for granted. So many things I assume will just be there because they always are. Like electricity. Or a front door that locks. Or a fridge whose light comes on when I open the door. Or hot water running from the tap.

There are so many things I don’t think about. Don’t give any thought to. Don’t pause to say, ‘thank you’ to because they’re just there. They’re just part of my daily world of comfort.

 

I am grateful for my daily world of comfort.

I was reminded of the importance of gratitude yesterday as I walked from my office to the C-train to take the ride home. Ahead of me, standing on the sidewalk in front of a wellness centre, I saw a man I know from the homeless shelter where I used to work. I sometimes wondered when I saw him there if he ever even saw me. He was often confused, talking to himself, lost in a world of paranoia brought on by mental illness. When I saw him yesterday he was standing outside of a mental wellness centre smoking a cigarette.  

He saw me as I approached and smiled. Called out a cheery hello. How nice to see you! Haven’t seen you in a long while. 

I stopped to chat. He grabbed my gloved hands in one of his bare hands. His eyes were clear. His face clean shaven. He looked well. His clothes no longer torn and dishevelled. He looked like he was taking good care of himself.

You look wonderful, I told him. And it was true. He looked younger. Healthier. Happier.

He laughed. Yeah. I don’t look like such a bum anymore now do I? And he laughed again. A deep, satisfying roll of mirth that rose up from his belly. I’m living on my own now, he said, before going on to tell me about the meds he’s taking and how they’re really helping. About his apartment and how he’s got people helping him. He smiled and held my hands as we stood chatting on the street. It’s really nice to see you, he said. I’m doing so much better now.

I’m so glad, I replied. It’s nice to see you too.

I don’t miss that place [the shelter] he told me, but I sure am grateful it was there when I needed it. I might not made it if it weren’t for that place. Yup. I sure am grateful.

As we parted I carried his gratitude with me. I carried it as I boarded the crowded C-train and found a spot to stand. I carried it with me as I got on and off the train at each stop to let people get off behind me. I carried it with me as I got off at my stop and walked up the stairs towards the road and pressed the light for the walk signal so that I could cross safely. I carried it with me as I walked down the street towards the car where C.C. sat waiting to pick me up and take me home so that I didn’t have to wait for the bus or walk along the icy sidewalks.

I carried it with me as I walked through our front door and Ellie, the wonder pooch, greeted me with tail wagging and body squirming as she expressed her happiness at seeing me.

I carried it with me as I changed from workday clothes to comfy wear complete with cashmere shawl to keep me warm.

I carried it with me as I answered a text from a girlfriend inviting us for dinner on the weekend.

I carried it with me as I drove to the art supply store to pick up a new canvas to work on this weekend.

I carried it with me throughout the evening as I prepared dinner, filled the dishwasher, washed my face, got ready for bed and climbed under the covers.

And I carry it with me this morning as I sit typing at my desk, the room warmed by central heating flowing through the pipes that carry water from the boiler to every room in our home.

The plumber arrived yesterday and fixed our boiler.

I am grateful.

May I carry gratitude within me throughout the day. In gratitude, I am thankful. In gratitude, I am at peace.

What will you carry?

 

 

 

Get off the path well-travelled

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They are already on the platform waiting for the C-train when I arrive.

He is maybe 6, 7 years old. Ninja backpack on his back. School is waiting. He’s excited to get there.

She is grandmotherly. Red coat. Black boots. Gloves. Matching purse. Her hair carefully coiffed, the metallic blonde of the dye fading at the roots.

He pulls his blue wool toque down around his ears, the rim just covering his eyebrows.

She pulls it back. Straightens it high against his brow.

He pulls it back down.

She gently slaps his hands away. Tells him it looks ridiculous like that and tugs it back into place. The place where she wants it to be.

His smile fades.

She turns to look for the train.

He pulls his toque back down to cover his eyebrows.

She turns back to look at him. Notices what he’s done. Tells him to stop being a nuisance. Tugs firmly and pulls his hat back into place. She smiles at him and says, “There. That’s better. Now leave it alone.”

His shoulders rise up and collapse downward in one fluid movement. He sighs. His hands swing by his side. He doesn’t touch his toque.

It is just a moment in time. A tiny vignette of a grandmother taking her grandson to school. Doing what she believes is her best. The right thing. The best thing she can do to prepare him for his day, and possibly teach him a lesson for life.

I wonder what message he got?

It wasn’t that her looks at him weren’t loving. They were.

It wasn’t that she didn’t have his best interests at heart. She did. I’m sure she loves her grandson to pieces. I’m sure she feels he was being a nuisance. That he needs to obey her, do what she says because that’s the only way he’s going to make it safely to school. If she let him wear his hat the way he wants, might he risk jumping the tracks? Might it lead to his mis-behaving in class, not following the rules, not doing what his teacher says?

You’ve got to obey your elders, I hear her saying in my head. Don’t be a nuisance.

And underneath the obvious concern for his well-being, what other messages were at play?

Don’t do it your way. Don’t colour outside the lines. Don’t think for yourself. You don’t count. You don’t matter. You don’t have the right to … speak up, do it differently, be individual. You don’t have a say. You don’t have a voice.

And for her what fears was she acting out? Did she need to keep control of every little detail so she could feel comforted by what she knows? Did she fear letting him have his way on this small thing would lead to his taking his own path on bigger things? Did she fear the path less travelled?

I don’t know what was going on in their minds or lives, but for me, the play enacted by this duo spoke deeply to my heart. It spoke deeply to that place within me where I want each and every one of us to honour the individual, to celebrate the different, to praise the uniqueness of our being who we are without fearing who we are is not enough.

It spoke deeply to that place within me where I feel powerless to awaken others to the importance of every small act we take with a child. That place where I want to go back and erase all the little things I did when my daughters were small that maybe didn’t celebrate the miracle of their lives because I was too busy to stop and see the gifts of their uniqueness, or too accustomed to taking the path I knew than to see there was a path less travelled that would awaken brilliance in our everyday lives.

It was a small moment with big ripples. A moment where I saw that for us to stop abuse, for us to end violence, for us to free children from living lives of desperation, we need to awaken to living fiercely in Love with this moment right now. We need to step into our power to do every small thing with love and compassion at the heart of every breath we take so that we no longer choose the path well-travelled and step fearlessly onto the path of Love.

 

 

Seeds of possibility. Awaken and Shine.

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shutterstock_118318609All life contains the seeds of possibility. It’s just, when we’re busy staring into the past, looking back at what went wrong, or what we can’t fix, or what we can’t do, or what others have done to us that we don’t like, our eyes are closed to the light of possibility breaking through the darkness. We see only our fears.

Here in the Northern Hemisphere, the nights lengthen and the warmth of the sun weakens with every passing moment as the shadows stretch across the snow drawing heaven to earth on the far horizon. In the dark winter nights we huddle around the hearth waiting for the coming of light, waiting for the dawn to break across the horizon and set us free from the darkness all around.

Advent approaches and with it we are invited to step into the sacred, to delve into the mystery and wonder of a child’s birth over 2,000 years ago. A birth that continues to resonate throughout mankind with its power to remind us that we are each and everyone of us, holy, sacred and divine.

15th Century mystic, Meister Eckhart wrote, “What good is it to me if Mary gave birth to the Son of God fourteen hundred years ago and I do not also give birth to the Son of God in my time and in my culture? We are all meant to be Mothers of God.”

As I meditated this morning, thoughts of the sacredness of my human condition wrapped themselves around my thinking, challenging me to step out of my meditative state into wonderment and awe. What if, I truly am the divine reflection of amazing grace? What if, we are each and every one of us the embodiment of divine grace enfleshed in the sacred call to be of service to one another through the very act of our being Mothers of God? What if we truly are the expression of the African word  Ubuntu? –  I am what I am because of who we all are. I am because of you.

And what if it is my fear of letting go of who I am to become all that I am because of you that holds me back from becoming all that I am? What if I don’t trust you to be there in all your glory, worthiness, Love? What if I don’t trust you to be your own unique expression of the Divine on earth? What if I don’t trust in the divine nature of Love and its infinite capacity to support me, to stand with me, to be with me in every breath, through every moment?

What if my fear of stepping into the glory and sacredness of my human condition is all I need to overcome to embrace my holy nature, to embody my divine grace, to express my sacred soul and birth my own unique expression of Love?

What if I let go of my fear of being sacred, divine, holy and breathe into the darkness to find the light of Love shimmering on the far horizon, drawing me closer to heaven on earth?

What if, I am, we are, each and every one of us, the Divine expression of amazing grace calling us to awaken from the darkness and shine?

 

 

 

 

arebecause you are?