Category Archives: Island Wonderings

Finding Sanctuary in the Storm: Jazz, Reflections, and Resilience

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When you walk
strong of back,
soft of heart,
there is no storm
you cannot weather,
no darkness
you cannot overcome,
and no wound
you cannot heal.

The wind howled like a banshee, rain lashed against the windows, and darkness clung to the edges of the world. It was a night to hunker down, to surrender to the storm’s symphony. “Do you still want to go?” I asked C.C., almost hoping for a reprieve from the tempest. But his eyes, alight with anticipation, held a spark that even the wildness of the night couldn’t extinguish.

His enthusiasm was a beacon, reminding me of the long journey he’s traveled. Not just to this island but with his health. The sea air, thick with the scent of salt and seaweed, have been a balm for his COPD compromised lungs. His breathing has eased and his strength is returning. I knew the music would be a tonic for his soul, and mine. And so, we ventured out into the night, seeking refuge in the warm glow of The Surf Pub and the promise of Sunday Night Jazz.

As the first notes filled the air, I was transported back to Jazz Vespers at St. Andrew-Wesley United Church in Vancouver. I recalled the hushed reverence of the sanctuary, the soaring voices of the jazz singer and her quartet, and the profound words of Reverend Gary Patterson, a scholar of Leonard Cohen and a master of weaving music and poetry into his sermons.

It was in the aftermath of the 2016 American election, a time when I felt profound uncertainty and fear, that his words first resonated deep within me: “We must stand strong of back and soft of front.” He spoke of the dangers of judgement, of the need to listen and learn, to embrace empathy over animosity.

That phrase, “strong of back, soft of front,” has become a guiding principle in my life. It’s a reminder to stand tall in the face of adversity and walk true to my values. It is an invitation to meet challenges with courage and resilience, while keeping my heart open to compassion and understanding. It’s a call to transcend the victim narrative, to recognize that even in the face of darkness, we have the power to choose love over fear. Always.

Last night, as the music washed over me, I was reminded of the interconnectedness of life, of how a stormy night, a jazz concert, and the words of a wise minister can converge to illuminate the path towards healing and wholeness. And in the depths of my being, I knew that with a strong back and a soft heart, there is no storm we cannot weather, no darkness we cannot overcome and no wound that cannot be healed.

The Seagull, the Whale, the Rainbow, and the Rain

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Yesterday, Beau and I embarked on our morning walk in the rain with the hopeful anticipation of once again encountering the majestic whales. And briefly, we did. Even in that fleeting moment, I felt the awe-inspiring grandeur of life beneath the waves.

Just before their emergence, Beaumont had fortuitously exited the water. I’m uncertain what his reaction would have been had he encountered a humpback gracefully gliding by. As it were, his swim was prompted by two seagulls that had the audacity to perch upon a rock at the water’s edge.

Beau, ever the guardian of order, raced towards them, and when they took flight, he plunged into the water, swimming in a valiant yet futile attempt to capture them. It was quite the spectacle to witness his determined pursuit of the seagulls and their smugness as they taunted him to venture further out. Thankfully, he heeded my call and returned to shore.

And that’s when the whales gracefully slipped past. It was a brief but enchanting encounter, made even more magical by the rainbow that arched above us as we strolled back home.

The seagull, the whale, the rainbow, and the rain – all elements of nature’s symphony, each playing their part in the tapestry of our morning walk. Each creating waves of joy and wonder within and all around me.

Coming Home.

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The road unfurls before me like a dove-grey ribbon, divided by dashes of yellow, winding through the trees. Sunlight filters through the canopy of pines, dappling the road ahead. Around each bend, the ocean glimmers against a periwinkle sky as the trees play peek-a-boo in green and blue. All of it a constant reminder of nature’s tender embrace. I inhale the scent of pine needles and feel the cool air on my skin as I drive with the window open.

I am falling in love with island life.

This island, just 14 kilometers long by 4.2 kilometers wide, holds me close. The sea is always near, a comforting presence amidst the lush green landscape. Behind me, as I drive, the road seems to narrow and disappear, like a thought drifting away on a cloud, carrying with it worries and woes, fears and trepidations.

And like the road disappearing into the trees, the daily routines of my former life fade into memory as I fall under the spell of this island in the sea.

There is a rhythm to island life unique to those who live here. I am slowly discovering mine. Even my morning routine – the familiar comfort of the NYTimes puzzles – feels infused with a new sense of peace. I feel my desire to create and contribute returning, my desire for calm rising like the tides, ebbing and flowing with the moon and stars.

I am of the wind. The waves. The trees swaying. The birds soaring along the water’s surface. I am the wild waves crashing. The calm seas rolling. I am the one I’ve always been searching for.

I am coming home to myself, to the me I’ve fought so hard to discover beneath the detritus of life’s tugs and pulls. In my homecoming, I find myself firmly planted in my being, all of me, no matter how fierce the winds around me blow.

In this place there is no need to rush about, to achieve and do more, be more, have more. There is only the sea’s constant urging I let go and be part of the ebb and flow of life unfolding like the road before me.

Rain or Shine, The Watchers Watch

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One of Beau’s favourite places to sit is at the door to the deck watching the world outside. Walkers. Bikers. Cars. Dogs. Waves lapping. Trees swaying. He sits and watches. Immobile. Until the man with a walker appears.

He arrives every mid-afternoon when the skies are clear or cloudy. He walks with purpose. Slow. Steady. His progress is measured and thoughtful. His walker the helm of his personal ship, providing guidance and stability as he navigates the road along the sea.

He stops in front of our house, turns his walker to provide him a seat upon which to sit and watch the waves. Passers-by stop and chat as the man holds court at the edge of the bay.

And Beaumont watches. Sometimes, if a passer-by is walking a fellow canine, Beau barks in welcome. Sometimes, the other dog barks back. Mostly, they ignore him.

Beau is impervious to their response. He keeps watching, bearing silent witness to the endless ballet of the waves and the story of life unfolding outside.

I have not had much time for watching. Unpacking. Organzing. And re-organizing have consumed me. And still, I feel the draw of the ocean calling me to Be still. Breathe. Become.

Unpacking has become a meditation here at the edge of the sea. The salty air, the cries of the gulls, the hypnotic rhythm of the waves – it all conspires to steal my attention. Each wave is a story: some whisper secrets against the sand, while others roar their defiance against the unyielding rocks. Some roll in with the gentle caress of a lover’s kiss, while others crash against the land, a tempestuous lover determined to have the last word.

Never are the waves still.

Never do they stop rolling in and out. In and out.

Mesmerized, I forget the boxes needing my attention. I ignore the pile of books on the floor waiting for a bookcase to appear. The trinkets looking for a place to call home.

In those moments, dinner can wait. The need to organize fades as I slip effortlessly into watecher’s mode. Like the man with the walker, I must slow my pace, savour each moment and simply watch.

The sea does not hold answers. It is alive with the questions, inviting me to let go of the need to know. To surrender to the exquisite mystery of now. To fall breathlessly alive into living, like a bird taking flight into a vast and boundless sky soaring above the vast and boundless sea.

Where the Wild Heart Dances

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Finding my rhythm in the embrace of the sea.

Where the Wild Heart Dances, life’s mysteries unfold in waves of wonder and awe, inviting you to let go of searching for certainty in a world of constant change.

Morning light pushes back the darkness, promising a new day filled with unknown mysteries. As the ocean waves lap gently against the rocks and the salt air caresses my skin, I stand here at the edge of the sea, present in this moment, listening, smelling, sensing, feeling, watching. The shadowy trees stand sentinel, their silence a mirror of the world around me.

It’s been two weeks since we moved to our island home. Two weeks of unpacking, sorting, settling in. Two weeks of becoming. But becoming what? Like a rogue wave surging from the depths, unexpected and powerful, a wave of longing washes over me, a yearning to know what tomorrow will bring. Will I find a sense of belonging here? Will this wild, beautiful place ever truly feel like home?

Memories of gatherings with loved ones surface, their laughter echoing in my heart. But here, surrounded by the vastness of the sea and sky, a sense of isolation creeps in. It’s a strange paradox – to feel so connected to the natural world, yet so adrift from the familiar rhythms of my old life.

In the stillness of this moment I wonder, am I falling into old patterns and seeking answers when I need to be living the questions? Perhaps finding a new rhythm is not about searching, but about surrendering to the mystery of the unknown, allowing the island to shape me, to teach me its own ancient cadence. It’s about listening to the whispers of the wind and the crashing of the waves, and letting them guide me to a place of belonging.

Perhaps the question isn’t, “What happens next?” but rather, “How will I release my need for certainty in a world that is constantly changing?” How do I quiet the noise of the world and listen to the whispers of my own soul, carried on the island breeze?

I cannot know the answer to tomorrow’s mysteries. But I can choose to embrace the unknown, to plant seeds of connection and creativity, to nurture a sense of wonder in this new and awe-inspiring place.

Namaste

PS. And for a touch of whimsy, Beau posted his blog yesterday — okay. It wasn’t Sunday but it’s poste. 🙂