It was a simple request, “Hold the door please!” a voice called out from behind me as I entered the building. I held the door and a woman rushed through, her arms filled with folders and binders, a large satchel purse swinging from one shoulder.
“Thanks,” she said as we walked towards the elevator.
“No problem,” I replied, before asking. “Can I carry anything for you?”
“That’s okay,” she said. “I’m kinda balanced like this.” And she went on to explain she was giving a course, running late, a child sick, a lost shoe…
We rode the elevator upwards and when I got off before her, she thanked me again for holding the door.
Later, I walked to the coffee shop around the corner and she was there, standing in line in front of me, chatting with a co-worker. When she placed her order, she turned, asked what I was having and insisted on buying it for me. “You were so nice to hold the door,” she repeated.
I was surprised. A bit taken aback.
All I did was hold the door. Something that happens countless times throughout the day for and with people throughout the city.
“I know,” the woman said when I told her it wasn’t necessary to buy me coffee. “But you’ve no idea how having that door held open really helped me. I was feeling really flustered and my morning was not going well. Having an open door just sort of changed everything around.”
It is so easy to hold a door open for someone and in the process, who knows what might happen to their day, or yours.
I left the coffee shop, carrying my coffee, a big smile on my face. As I walked down the street, my step was light, my feelings uplifted. Through the simple act of holding a door open, I had received the gift of connection, of knowing I’d made a difference simply by being polite.
As you travel through your day, are there opportunities for simple acts that make a difference?
In each act we take that creates open doors for others to feel seen, heard, acknowledged, we create a ripple of well-being in the world around us. And who knows, with each ripple of well-being we send out, we could create a tsunami of peace, love and joy throughout the world.
Now wouldn’t that be something!
Let’s all hold doors for strangers today and open up a world of possibility. Let’s all create openings for peace, love and joy with every act we take.
Time to open our hearts, shift our minds and lift our spirits up!
It is time to put down arms without fearing for our lives and hold out our arms in love for every life on this planet called Earth.
It is time to move away from discord and unease into harmony and joy.
To move beyond self-righteousness into acceptance.
To let go of fearing our differences and embrace what makes our uniqueness in love.
To step beyond fear into the courage to act. In Peace.
It is time.
To think peace. Be peace. Know peace. In our hearts and minds, in our families and communities, in our cities and provinces, states and countries. It is time for peace in our world.
It is time.
We’re making time for PEACE here in Calgary. June 22. We’ll be pounding the drums. Feeling the beat and heeding the call of Peace.
Inspired by the brilliance of Kerry Parsons whose Centre for Inspired Living has helped thousands of people move beyond conflict, discord and unease into living within harmony, peace and joy, a team of co-creators has woven together a plan to unleash PEACE in Calgary.
“Drumming Up Peace!” will take place Friday, June 22 at 7pm at the Inglewood Community Centre as part of Calgary Community Drum Circles‘ Friday night meet-up. “Drumming Up Peace” will launch Summer of Peace Calgary 2012 — with song and dance and drumming and a Declaration of Peace for all to sign and commit to.
Summer of Peace Calgary 2012 is a grassroots movement embedded in the global SHIFT Network that, along with Barbara Marx Hubbard and other evolutionary leaders, is preparing for Birth 2012 — the conscious evolution of our human species that will unleash our natural creative potential to live cooperatively with peace, sustainability, health and prosperity.
And we’re excited.
Peace is possible.
Peace is necessary.
Peace is in the air and our hearts!
Peace is within all of us to give, to make, to extend, to hold onto and hold out.
It only takes one act, one choice, one decision to give peace a chance.
It only takes one move, one shift, one action to set in motion a ripple of peace throughout the world.
What’s your ripple?
Will you be an agent of peace?
Will you make your difference be counted in moments of strife, or will you make your difference count in moments of joy?
Will you put down anger to take up harmony?
Will you let go of fear to embrace change?
Will you be a peace destroyer or, a Peace Builder?
We can all make a difference in how we create peace in our lives. Moment by moment we can choose to build every action we take upon our conscious decision to Choose Peace.
Peace is possible when we let go of believing it’s impossible.
Peace begins now when we let go of believing it will happen at some distant time when the stars and planets align to make room for peace.
There is room for peace in all our hearts. There is a place for peace, everywhere in the world.
It is time. To make peace, right here, right now.
It is time to shift our planet out of the way of war and turbulence and self-destruction.
It is time to make peace, today, so that we can create harmony for our world tomorrow.
It is time.
Will you act in peace today?
Will you raise your consciousness up to become aware of every step, every word, every action you take and it’s ability to destroy, or create peace, love and harmony in your world?
The sun was warm and inviting as Ellie and I set out on our walk yesterday. We were at a different park than our norm. She had joined ‘the family’ at my sister’s for Mother’s Day brunch at their house in the south end of the city.
Jackie and her husband live on the edge of a large wilderness area, Fish Creek Park. Over 20 kilometres in length, Fish Creek Park is one of the largest urban parks in Canada. And it’s beautiful.
The Park follows the Bow River which serpentine’s along the valley bottom from east to west. Poplar and pine and birch trees line the shore. Ducks paddle in the river. Fisherman steer their boats or stand on the shore casting their lines.
When I left their house my brother-in-law had told me to ‘turn left’ at the bottom of the hill and just follow the trail. “It loops back to where you began.”
Right.
Except, I’m not very good at following directions. I turned left, but not until I took the bridge across a tributary of the river. Ellie and I walked along the paved path until eventually, we headed to the riverside to walk the dry grasses of winter turning green. She splashed in the river. I sat in the sun and smiled at her antics.
We kept walking and came to another bridge. “I must need to get to the other side to get back to my car,” I told myself. And Ellie and I crossed.
We walked for another half hour, the sun danced on the river”s surface, the heat soaked into my skin. Nothing seemed familiar. We were walking along a golf course that shouldn’t have been on my left.
We kept walking. Eventually, a young exuberant Doodle Retriever bounced towards us, eager to play with Ellie. After an hour and a half of walking, Ellie was tired. She didn’t want to play, she wanted to sleep. The Doodle kept persisting. Ellie growled. The owner who was seated on a lawn chair some distance away,called her dog. The Doodle ignored her.
I pulled on Ellie’s leash. She wanted to ignore the Doodle, but the Doodle was too young to get the message. Ellie growled more intensely. The owner called her dog. Nothing happened.
Finally, I dragged Ellie away, the Doodle looking after us with a confused look on his face. ‘I just wanted to play!’
I wanted to tell the owner to take better care of her dog. I wanted to give my piece of mind on the difference between sitting in your lawnchair versus getting up and taking action.
I breathed. No sense in expending my energy negatively. And negative thoughts about her were definitely going to ruin my peace of mind! Bless her. Forgive me.
We kept walking until eventually, we came to a fork in the path. I had to choose — the river path or the bridge crossing. I pondered my route. I was pretty sure the straight path along the river would take me back to where I thought my car was parked. But I wasn’t sure.
I asked for directions. “Oh no,” a friendly passerby told me. “If you’re parked at Sikomie, you need to take the bridge and follow the path in the opposite direction.”
How did I get so turned around?
It didn’t really matter, how it happened. What mattered was I found my way. Two and a half hours after setting out for an hour-long walk, Ellie and I were back at the car, tired and content.
Sometimes in life we get turned around. Sometimes, we go in the wrong direction. Sometimes we sit by the river and let life pass us by. It doesn’t matter how far down the trail we’ve gone or how much time we spend sitting out. What matters most is that we get back on the path. And when unsure of where we’re going, what makes the difference between being lost and finding our way is asking for directions.
When lost, asking for directions makes a difference.
It is Mother’s Day. A time to celebrate. A time to give thanks. A time to say, I love you mom.
I was the final note in a quartet of children. The ‘baby’ of the family, I had my way. I was spoiled, rotten, my siblings would tell you. My mother despaired for me. “How will you ever get by in life if you always do it your way?” she would ask. “Why can’t you just listen to me?” she would plead. “Why can’t you be like the others?”
My mother and I often fought. We argued about hair and make-up, the shortness of my skirts, the length and colour of my fingernails. We disagreed on most things from the boys I liked to the dreams I held dear. We saw the world through different eyes, from how safe it was, to how beautiful it is. We seldom saw the same colour. She saw blue. I saw cerulean. She saw red. I saw crimson. We seldom heard the same song. She heard a lark singing. I heard an eagle calling.
When I was a little girl, I remember my mother fussing with my hair, straightening my blouse, insisting I dress the same as my older by 2 and a half years sister. I didn’t want to dress the same. I didn’t care if my blouse was straight. I just wanted to get on with life. To get out into the world and explore.
And my mother feared for me.
I used to think it was because she didn’t trust me. Didn’t believe I knew how to be, out there, out beyond the ties that bound me to the umbilical cord of her love. I thought she didn’t want me to grow, to achieve, to become all I wanted to be.
It wasn’t until I became a mother that I understood. It wasn’t until I struggled to achieve my impossible dream of being there for my daughters in every way they needed me that I saw the truth. It wasn’t because my mother didn’t trust me or love me that she worried about me so. It was because she never wanted me to be hurt. She never wanted me to fall down. She never wanted me to know the pain she felt, out there, in the world.
My mother wanted to keep me safe. Always. And in her fear she could not hold me forever in her arms, in her fear she would not be able to stop the inevitability of my falls, she knew she had to let me go so that I could fly free.
And she did.
Motherhood is an act of courage. Of faith. Of letting go when all you want to do is hold on as tightly as you can to the one you love.
I had no intention of becoming a mother. In fact, according to the doctors, after two ruptured ectopic pregnancies, it wasn’t supposed to be physically possible.
And then, the miracle of Alexis arrived and eighteen months later, Liseanne followed along, a laughing, squirming bundle of joy and life became a never-ending story of Love unfolding with every breath they took and every moment of their lives that took my breath away.
I am grateful to my mother. She taught me well to love and let go. To be and let become.
My mother is almost 90 now. Frail. Delicate. A tiny sparrow of a woman, my mother still hears larks singing. She still sees the beauty of a red sunset and she still knows the gifts of love. Her life has not been easy. She has lost her husband and her only son, been distanced from two of her granddaughters through the grief that followed. My mother sits quietly now. She no longer fights back. She no longer cries out for me to ‘be careful’, ‘slow down’. She no longer cautions me to be like the others, to stop doing it my way, to quit making waves.
And now, despite our differences, despite the distance between our perspectives, my mother and I share the same heart. It is kind and caring, soft and gentle. My heart is founded in my mother’s love, and I am grateful.
For in her heart I have learned to give and receive. In her ways, I have embraced the joy of being kind and caring, soft and gentle. In her love, I have discovered what it means to be a mother.
A mother loves the tiny seed within her womb, nurturing the possibility of life with all her being. A mother gives birth to a child’s dreams and schemes, breathing as her child breathes, crying as her child cries, falling as her child falls. A mother watches over her child, holding on with all her heart to their dreams of flight, fearing with all her being the inevitability of their falling, and letting go of holding on in the certainty of their flying free.
In the constant presence of my mother’s love, I have learned to fly free, learned to soar high knowing, no matter where I go, my mother’s heart will always be the tie that binds me back into the circle of love that connects us.
Mothers are the difference in a world of Love.
Happy Mother’s Day!
Without our mothers, the Circle Game would never unfold. Enjoy one of my favourite songs Joni Mitchell’s Circle Game.
It is Saturday and time to celebrate heroes in our midst. I feel very blessed. It has been a week filled with encounters with everyday heroes doing whatever they can to make a difference in the world. I was inspired by their courage and humility. I was deeply touched by their stories.
I am writing the Annual Report for an agency that provides affordable housing to Calgarians. In the course of my writing I have had the privilege to meet several individuals who exemplify what it means to be a hero. They soldier on in the face of life’s adversity. No matter what hardships life has delivered up they, speak from grateful hearts and continually give back. Chris, Sasha, Julie, Ed, Rose and John each touched my heart with their humility, their courage and their willingness to share their stories.
Chris, Sasha, Julie, Ed, Rose, John are heroes.
There are several agencies that provide affordable housing in our city who fulfill on their mission everyday to ensure people with disabilities and disadvantages have the opportunity to live in a safe, stable and supported environment. Without these groups whose commitment to taking care of their ‘brothers and sister’, there would be many more people lost to the streets, many more people living in fear.
Horizon Housing, Accessible Housing Society, and all those who take care of those who need support in taking care of themselves, you are heroes.
Craig Lester is committed to ensuring depression comes into the light. He wants people to know they don’t have to suffer in the darkness, there is hope. This week, Craig ran a five-part series about depression on 660 News and he organized a two-hour online chat to provide people with the opportunity to learn more. In sharing his story of moving out from under the cloak of depression, and making it possible for others to find the courage to share theirs, he is changing the world, one mind at a time.
Craig Lester is a hero.
At 28, John Christensen’s world changed forever when the plane he was piloting crashed and burned. Locked in his seatbelt, unable to escape until a man came to his rescue, John feared for his life. Since the accident, John has been in a wheelchair, but it hasn’t stopped him from making a difference. Today, the 72-year-old is a beacon of hope for disabled people all over the world. In 2003, a trip to Vietnam opened John’s eyes to the plight of individuals for whom lack of government support amidst the ravages of disease, insufficient medical services and the after-effects of war have left people of limited mobility struggling to get around. Inspired by his journey, John created, Global Disability Foundation(GDF)a not-for-profit committed to ‘distributing mobility devices globally to those in need’. GDF rebuilds and refurbishes wheelchairs destined for the junk heap and delivers them to third world and emerging countries whose governments to not have the social services necessary to serve people in need. Thousands of individuals whose mobility was determined by the willingness of someone to carry them, or their strength to drag their bodies across the ground by use of their hands and arms, are now able to regain dignity and mobility through the use of a functioning and comfortable wheelchair from GDF.
John has also written a book, The 13th Rope, about his life journey. I started reading it last night when I returned from an evening at the symphony, and I quickly became engrossed. What an amazing human being.
John Christensen and Global Disability Foundation are heroes.
Who are the heroes in your world? Have you celebrated their brilliance today?
I am engrossed in conversation with another woman when I walk into the ‘Timmie’s’ around the corner from the office where I’ve been consulting. I don’t see the woman sitting by herself at a corner table until I get to the front of the line. As I stand beside her she looks up and I smile.
“Louise!” she says, standing up to greet me.
“Hello Sharon*,” I say as she wraps her arms around me in a big hug.
She is a substantial woman. Solid. Long salt and pepper hair streaming down her back.
“You look good!” she says. “You must be in love!”
I laugh and reply. “Of course! Does it show?”
“Yup.”
“How are you?” I ask. “Where are you living now?”
Sharon was a client at the shelter where I used to work. She used to come up to the art studio to draw and create ‘art objects’ or to simply sit in the quiet and journal. She lived on her own, off and on, but mental health issues often tripped her up, bringing her back to the shelter when she could no longer sustain her independence. I was hoping the news would be good when I asked my question. I was hoping she would be thriving.
“I don’t have a place right now,” she told me. A shrug of one shoulder. A wry, lopsided smile punctuating her words.
“Are you back at the shelter?”
She shook her head. Looked down. “No. I’m sleeping rough right now,” she mumbled. She paused. Looked back up at me. “I should be hearing about a place today. I’m hoping I get it.”
“I hope so too,” I tell her. “Are you working with someone to help you?”
“Oh yeah. I got it all under control.” And she smiles, big. She shows me the cigarette between her fingers. “Gotta go feed my vice!” And she laughs, grabs her purse and heads towards the door. “It was nice to see you Louise. You always make me smile,” she calls back before heading outside. In an instant she is gone.
I get a phone message from a woman who has battled her way out of homelessness. She’s just been diagnosed with her second round of cancer and is undergoing chemo. “I’m okay,” she says in her message. “I just want to tell you how blessed I am to have my parents and my special friends.” And she hangs up without leaving her number, which is blocked on my caller ID.
I want to connect with her, with Sharon, with other women like Julie whom I met earlier in the afternoon when I interviewed her for an annual report I’m writing for an agency that provides affordable housing here. I want to connect and tell them how it doesn’t seem fair to me. It doesn’t seem right that life should hand them such tough causes. That the world can be so blind to their struggles.
I want to tell them, Sawbonna. I see your soul.
I learned Sawbonna from my beautiful friend, Margot Van Sluytman whom I am meeting for coffee this afternoon. Sawbonna is an African word and the name of her latest book. Sawbonna: I See You. Dialogue of Hope. Sawbonna is a beautiful, poignant and inspiring journey through grief and anger and pain and depression towards the healing Margot finds in forgiveness after meeting the man who murdered her father when she was 16.
Sawbonna is what I want to tell these women on my path.
I cannot change their journey. I cannot give them answers. I cannot take away their pain, or sorrow, or fear or whatever they are feeling.
I can stand with them. Be present.
I can bear witness to their struggles and be present to their stories. And in my presence, I can be part of the circle of hope that in telling our stories, we create new stories of possibility, of life beyond the pain, of life lived joyfully in the promise of what can be when we are, as Julie described it earlier in the afternoon when talking about her home, safe.
I cannot change the world. But, to make a difference, I can be present. I can say, Sawbonna. I see your soul.
It was the breakup of his relationship that brought him down. Really down. Tired. Feeling bone-weary. No energy in the mornings. A tightness in his chest. Pounding in his heart.
At first, he told himself it was just the after-affects of the break-up. “Get over it dude,” well meaning friends told him.
But he couldn’t get over it. It kept interrupting his peace of mind. Breaking into his consciousness and pummeling his will into submission. And then, he took an online screening test for depression and discovered what was at the root of his unease.
Yesterday, when I met with Craig Lester from 660 News to talk about an online chat he has organized for the radio station on Friday, he shared his story of why he wants to educate people about depression.
“Can I share your story with others?” I asked.
He was quick in his response. “Yes. Of course. That’s why I tell it. I want people to know what happened to me so that maybe from my experience they can avoid going as deep as I did into depression.”
Craig Lester is making a difference.
Big time.
This week on the radio station he has produced a series on depression, interviewing one of the world’s foremost experts, Dr. Michael D. Yapko, whose book, “Depression Is Contagious — How the most common mood disorder is spreading around the world and how to stop it“ presents a radical and enlightening look on how our social systems are the foundation of depression. We don’t need to run to drugs, says Yapko, we need to run to eachother.
Craig is reaching out to everyone to ensure they know — no matter how sad you’re feeling, there is help. There is a way out. Included in his series, Craig has interviewed people who have suffered from depression, as well as Dianna Campbell-Smith, the Director of Counselling at the Calgary Counselling Centre. It is a fascinating and informative look at a dark subject.
Untreated, depression can drive you deeper into the darkness to that place where suicide appears as the only answer. Depression should never kill. Yet it does. According to the Canadian Mental Health Association:
Approximately 8% of adults will experience major depression at some time in their lives.
Suicide accounts for 24% of all deaths among 15-24 year olds and 16% among 25-44 year olds.
Suicide is one of the leading causes of death in both men and women from adolescence to middle age.
Almost one half (49%) of those who feel they have suffered from depression or anxiety have never gone to see a doctor about this problem.
Depression hurts. Suicide kills.
People like Craig, (and blogger, author, speaker Lee Horbachewski whose book, A Quiet Strong Voice, about her own battle with depression and several suicide attempts is being launched this month) are making a difference.
Mental health makes a difference! How’s yours? Are you feeling happy, sad or glad? Is anger getting a rise out of you? Is sadness bringing you down?
Don’t let the ‘stigma’ of mental health be your reason for not checking it out.
for a live chat on depression. A counsellor from the Calgary Counselling Centre will be online between 10 a.m. and 12 p.m., to answer questions and provide help. The live chat is open to anyone who wants to talk about depression, are looking for information or just need someone to talk to.
It was a small, intimate gathering in my living room last night. Don and I spent half an hour rearranging chairs and furniture to give the best viewing for everyone who came to my first ever house concert! Don Bray, is my friend from Orillia, Ontario whom I met last year with his wife and fellow musician, Alyssa Wright, at the Haven. He was passing through Calgary, promoting his latest CD (which is fabulous), I Am Myself and was staying over for a couple of nights on his return trip east. I had asked him if I could put on a house concert with some of the proceeds going to my favourite charity, the United Way of Calgary, and he quickly agreed.
And so, last night, Don sat at one end of the living room, his guitars perched on stands beside him, while we gathered on couches and chairs around him. It is his warmth and ease with people you notice first. Don makes eye contact. He ‘sees’ you when he greets you.
And we all felt it last night. As people entered the house, he said hello, chatted about life, his trip, his CD. He asked questions of others and we shared while we waited for latecomers to arrive.
And then, the evening began. Don chatted about his musical and non-musical career. He shared his love of life today, his depression of the past, his dark periods and his struggle to ‘love himself’. And we all related. He told stories that made us laugh and cry and feel connected. And in between his stories, he sang the songs of life. From a little boy eager to hit the hockey rink every day after school learning the meaning of standing up for himself, to first slow dances and the regrets of missed kisses to the excitement of finding his first true love on the Internet, only to discover he was reading their obit, to lost opportunities and broken hearts and soaring spirits, Don took us on a journey of life. With every note, he wooed us with his voice, the power of his words and the amazing versatility of his guitar playing into that place where ‘the world’ falls away and we are all one with eachother in a circle of love and joy and peace and, as one friend in the audience said, “there is always hope!”
It was divine.
What a simple and easy way to make a difference.
Invite some friends over to join in an evening of song, raise some money for the musician and your favourite charity (in this case, the United Way of Calgary) and go home feeling alive, connected and inspired.
We had it all last night. Great music. Great companionship. A bite to eat. A glass of wine. A shared experience worth treasuring, and repeating.
Who knows… I could make this a monthly or bi-monthly gig.
It was fun and everyone benefited.
And as everyone left, we all agreed, the evening made a difference.
As I drifted to sleep last night, I wondered… did I laugh today? I mean really laugh. Deep, rolling laughter that burbled up from my belly, tumbling over itself to be released.
It’s important. To laugh every day. Out loud. Just for the fun of it.
My friend Mary would also tell you, it’s important to cry every day too. There’s so much sadness and sorrow in the world, she told me once. And so, to cope, to deal with it, to let it flow freely, she gives herself permission to cry for a few minutes every morning.
It makes a difference, she says, in how she flows through her day. Having a good cry is healthy. It frees up room to be present without sad feelings for the world’s woes getting in the way for how she deals with her day.
When I was first released from the relationship from hell, I knew I needed to cry. Lots. There was so much pain, sadness, sorrow, grief stored up in my body, I knew I had to let it flow.
But I was scared.
As a child, I remembered my mother crying, a lot. She suffered from depression and I was terrified that if I started crying I would never stop. Most of my life I had pushed back tears, damming them up behind the wall of my perfect smile. I didn’t like to cry.
But I knew I had to let my tears flow. I knew I had to give myself permission to ‘feel bad’.
To teach myself that I could be safe with my emotions, I gave myself permission to cry, everyday for ten minutes on the hour. The other 50 minutes, I had to do something that was healing and affirming of me. (I was really broken when I got out of that relationship. I had spent almost five years cowering in silence and after the first day of lying in bed crying, I knew I had to teach myself not only how to feel my emotions but also how to stand up and be strong.) On those days, when all I wanted to do was cry and cry and cry, I reminded myself to ‘wait!’. It wasn’t my crying time. And so, I’d wait until the hour and then let myself cry for the proscribed time (I continued to shorten my crying time as I felt myself healing). And when my crying time was over, I’d have to continue to do something positive and affirming for myself. Sometimes, that meant getting outside and taking Ellie, the wonder pooch, for a walk. Other times it meant writing, volunteering, job searches — whatever I could to take a step away from grief into the light. It wasn’t the particulars of what I did in the other 50 minutes of each hour that made a difference. It was that I did something positive and affirming.
In time, I taught myself that it was okay to feel my feelings, and let them flow. I discovered I had the power to choose how I expressed my emotions, and, equally as important, that crying, like laughter, is healing.
My tears made a difference. In letting them flow, I honoured my pain and sorrow, I acknowledged my grief. I didn’t need to hold onto it, but I did need to let it go. Tears helped.
And so did laughter.
To make a difference in the world, it is important that I be healthy — not just physically, but emotionally, mentally and spiritually too.
Tears and laughter help.
Take time today to feel your emotions. Take time to let them flow. Take time to let yourself be made different through expressing yourself with more than just words. Laugh. Cry. Dance. Cheer. Scream. Yell. Go throw eggs at trees.
Let your emotions flow and give yourself the gift of freedom to be all of who you are meant to be in the world.
You’ll be glad you did — and so will the world around you!
Nestled in the giant firs that cling to the shoreline of Emerald Lake Lodge, a string of two-storey, bright green steeple-roofed cabins offer shelter and seclusion to visitors year round. C.C. and I always ask for a cabin as far from the main building as possible. We like the walk after dinner, the stars a glittering blanket of awe-inspiring splendour above, the night crisp and clear all around us. The view from our main level cabin, bracketed by fir trees, looked out over the still frozen lake to the majesty of the snow-covered President Range and Emerald Glacier on the far side. It was breath-taking.
There is no traffic at the Lodge. Cars are parked on a lower level with the Lodge providing shuttle service to and fro. Admist the silence of the fir trees, only bird song interrupts the quiet.
Except when someone is yelling and cursing. Then, the silence is marred by human discord spilling out into the silence, creating ripples of unease all around.
It was early evening, the light still bright on the lake. C.C. and I were sitting quietly reading, a fire burning brightly in our room when voices began to penetrate the calm around us. Surprised, unsure what we were hearing, I stepped out onto the deck to listen. The voice was loud. Close, and angry. It was a woman. Yelling. Cursing. Abusive. Disgusted at something, someone.
I wasn’t sure what to do. It was easy to tell they were in the cabin above us. It was easy to tell their deck door, like ours, was open.
I considered the options and called back to C.C. who was sitting reading by the fire. “Do you think I should knock on their door and let them know we can hear them?”
C.C. waved me to return inside. I admit it. I had purposefully raised my voice so that I could be heard by anyone above who happened to be listening.
It only took a moment. There was an abrupt stop to the angry yelling. Silence descended. The cursing stopped and calm returned.
It took me awhile to let go of the effects of her harsh words and discord. I kept shrugging it off, breathing into peace but I must admit, later on at dinner in the lodge, I did listen to voices of other couples in an attempt to see if I could tell who it was. I doubt I would have said anything, but I was curious as to what could be so important that the peace and tranquility of a mountain retreat in one of the most romantic settings around could be disturbed by such violent anger.
C.C. who knows how curious I can be, gently nudged me to pay attention when he saw me looking around the dinner room, listening closely to other people’s conversations (I know — nosey!). I smiled sheepishly and turned my attention back to him. It was hard not to listen to him anyway. He was reading the menu to me with an Italian accent — and his Italian accent is atrocious! In the laughter dappled halo of our dinner conversation, I forgot about the woman of the harsh voice, and focused instead on his loving presence.
But she did remind me of something very important. We must always be conscious of what we send out into the world. Our words, our voices, our presence makes a difference in the world that ripples out to edge up against other people’s lives. Letting our anger spillover like frigid water bursting from the trap of winter’s ice is a chilling experience for everyone; those it is directed to, and those who stand on the periphery as unexpected recipients and innocent bystanders.
We have power to create harmony, or discord, with our words. To make a lasting and welcome difference in the world, choose harmony. It never fails to create a ripple of joy all around.
Dare Boldly 