Every beginning searches for its end and every ending seeks a new beginning.
This thought came to me this morning as I sat in the quiet.
Today, at noon, the sale of our Glamorgan house closes and the door across the threshold of what was our home for nine years closes.
The beginning of our new home has already begun as we’ve opened up the possibilities created when we tear down walls and ceilings and create a clean palette upon which to build.
And through it all, the circle of life continues unbroken.
Events. Places. Things. People. Memories. They come together in a continuous loop of possibility, hope, hellos and good-byes.
In their connectedness, we build our hopes and dreams into what can be when we let go of holding on and open the door to possibility in the belief, life is a journey. It’s best we take it in Love.
One door closes today.
There are many more opening even as others close. And always, through openings and closings, there is Love connecting us all in this journey of life.
When I wrote the title for my post this morning I smiled. A) I generally don’t start my posts knowing the title before I write; B) I wonder where ‘there’ is?
Almost there — where ever that is, means there is an end to ‘this move’. What it looks like, I don’t know. How will I know I’m there? I’ll figure it out when I get there!
In the process of being in it, I find myself reflecting on where I’m actually at versus where I want to get to — so I guess the ‘almost there’ is that place where I’m not making lists in my head of all the things I’ve yet to do and can focus on what I’m doing right now.
Almost there also means, being in that place where I can focus more on the renovations of our new home versus cleaning up our old one.
Tomorrow at noon, the old home will be ours no more. And, as Steve so beautifully stated in his comment on my post, Moving Days, “part of your home, deck and flowers will go with you and part of your essence will remain… and all is in the flow!” Or, as John M called it in his comment on my post, Still Waiting – PHLOW
Power (for me this means using our power wisely to create better in our world, to do no harm)
Harmony
Love
Order
Wisdom
Be in the PHLOW now and forever.
I shall be in the PHLOW. I shall activate the power of my body, mind, heart and spirit to create PHLOW all around me. I shall, as Kate Blanchett suggests, “Look at the past but do not stare at it.” (Thanks Jackie!)
This morning, I am going to the old house to clear out the things the movers couldn’t put into storage — spray paint, aerosol cans and the cleaning materials. I don’t have to clean the house, fortunately we have cleaners coming in to do that (thank you Evelyn and crew), but I do have to gather up the debris and ensure there’s nothing for them to ‘work around’ as they give the house that ‘Welcome. I’m your new home’ look the new owners deserve.
And then.
It is done.
Almost there will be ‘all the way there.’
And that part of the journey will be closed.
And with every door that closes, a new door opens, a new threshold appears, a new space invites.
We are almost there.
I am grateful.
I am tired.
I am excited.
I am relieved.
I am blessed.
As Mark commented yesterday, there are so many in this world who do not have a home. Who do not have the tiredness of cleaning up one house to get ready for new owners as they renovate another for themselves to move into.
Today, as I count my many blessings I know that, no matter how much stuff I have, how many things I possess, the greatest blessings of all don’t come wrapped up in ribbons and bows and boxes. They come through the heart of what connects us all, our humanity.
May I always be there, in that space where my heart sees your heart and is filled with gratitude for your presence in my life.
In that place, no matter where I am, almost there, getting there, resisting being there or already there, may your heart hear my heartfelt, “Thank-you. I am grateful we are on this journey together. No matter where we are in this world, may we always know in our hearts is always where we need to be to create a beautiful world of PHLOW, now and forever.”
You know that space where you mind feels like a soggy mash and your body like a weary, deflated blow-up Santa after the holidays?
That’s me today.
The move is underway. After a mis-start yesterday morning where I thought a 9am meant start began at our house when what it really meant was, at the yard picking up the truck and supplies at 9 and at our house at 10, 3 lovely people descended upon our belongings and proceeded to pack them up. Thank you Cory, Vanessa and Brett from Family Strong Moving — you take the pain out of moving.
As the packers wrapped, C.C. and I loaded up our cars to take what we think we’ll need for the next 6 weeks to our temporary abode at Olympic Village. More gratitude for Nusrat and Olympic Suites! You added comfort and ease into relocating temporarily while the renovations of our new home get completed. Beaumont agrees. He’s got a ravine to explore right outside our patio doors and ample windows out of which he can watch the world go by. Marley is undecided. Change does not come easily to a 10 year old cat who likes two things, comfort and food, and does not take kindly to either being in short supply.
It was a long day but I kept reminding myself, Breathe and Be. Focus on the moment. On the task at hand. On what needs to get done right now.
And, other than my mini-panic attack when I feared the movers were not coming, when I took time to breathe into the moment to remember, now is not forever, the day went smoothly.
But remember the soggy mind and weary body?
Lugging suitcases and plastic tubs up 2 flights of stairs into our rented accommodation will do that to you. Realizing all the things you did need but didn’t bring will do it too. And though I took the day off yesterday to be fully present to the task at hand, there were still phone calls and emails and decisions to be made and documents to proof — Christmas is the busiest time of year at a family homeless shelter. Along with all the daily activities, the generosity factor gets amped up 100 fold as Calgarians step up their already impressive philanthropic game to super-sonic speed. Couple that with the fact that last week we had our annual Open House and next week we have the opening of a 10 unit apartment building for families exiting homelessness — well, you can see what I mean by the soggy mind.
Work. Move. Renovations. All exciting and filled with possibility. All requiring some sort of mental acuity.
Which brings me here, to this page.
If my weariness is seeping into my words, it’s because I am weary — in a good way — but weary nonetheless. And I am content. All in the same space.
When I stop the mind chatter about my weariness and breathe into the moment, when I still my racing mind to be present to the stillness, my heartbeat slows, my body quiets as I settle into the contentment of being here, now. In that shimmering liminal space, I know, no matter how much there is to get done, no matter what is going on, with gratitude as my constant companion and acceptance of what is as my guidepost, I am safe in Love’s embrace.
At 8:30 this morning a horde of packers will arrive to wrap and pack our house all up.
Okay, well maybe not a horde, but 3 for sure — and amidst that chaos, I shall remember to live within the calm. To not give into the angst and chaos. To not fall into the trap of believing, now is forever and if I don’t get it my way, right now, the world will come to a screeching, crashing, agonizing halt!
Whew! That feels better.
Calm now.
I shall continue on with my day — or rather, the next 3 days as once the packing is over, tomorrow the movers arrive to put it all in their truck and take it away to storage.
As selling this house happened way quicker than we anticipated, last night was our last night in this house. The lovely and loving home that has sheltered and nurtured us for the past 9 years.
I am grateful.
For this home. The memories we created. The good times we shared. The love that grew beneath its roof.
I am grateful.
And now, to breathe again and step back into the chaos of moving dayz!
It is the second week of advent. As we wait for the sun’s return, as we listen for our deepest
knowing to awaken from these long dark nights of winter, listen to your heart. Listen to the
silence and winter calling you to know the otherness.
This is the time of endless nights growing darker. Of day’s light growing weaker in the soft
approach of winter solstice, in the coming light of the child’s birth drawing near.
This is a time when our patience grows thin as we rush about, fighting crowds and traffic,
endlessly hurrying towards one more checkmark on the list, one more item scratched off on the
gifts we must buy.
Patience is a virtue and at this time of year, a necessity. Yet, we struggle against giving it time to
grow, to take form, to inhabit our being present in the darkness of these wintery days so that we
can lean into the silence to hear the song of joy being born within our hearts.
We cannot change the course of night, just as we cannot change the path of the earth moving
around the sun. Winter will pass in its time, and whether we wait with calm heart, or battle
against time’s slow passing, the sun will appear upon the horizon, raising itself up into the sky,
with or without our permission. No matter how many items are checked off on our list, the sun
will return, days will lengthen and nights will grow shorter. The cycle of time passing will continue,
again and again, in its ever ending circle of life.
This is a time when I seek that place of quiet within where I can hear my heart giving birth to the
new life I must call my own. This is a time when I yearn to fall into place with the world around
me and the world within me. A place where the hustle and bustle of the season wanes as I find
that place within where I know communion with the world, within and outside of me.
This is the place where I let go of that which I ‘hate’ about me and find the courage to live from my poet’s
heart rising up within me. It is in this place I sense the world through the beauty expressing
itself through my soul’s desire to give birth to the one I have been waiting for, just as over 2,000
years ago, Mary gave birth to the one she waited for, the One the world awaited.
And in this moment of quiet, as I sit in the stillness of the night, a song arises within me, and I find
myself settling into my heart. In silence I wait patiently for the sun to return, for a child to be
born, for peace, hope, love and joy to become the essence of my world.
In my waiting, I grow still. In my stillness, I hear the whisper of hope singing in dawn’s caress waiting at the edge of the horizon to push the darkness back into the night. With hope awakening, I know, anything is possible including peace, hope, love and joy for all the world.
I arrive home. Let Beaumont the Sheepadoodle out into the backyard. Go through the house to the front door. Open it. Check the mail.
This is my daily after work routine.
Yesterday, when I put my hand inside the mailbox, I found a surprise.
A bag of heart-shaped dog biscuits and a card. “Merry Christmas” was all that was written on the outside.
Curious, I take it into the house, let Beau in as he’s now barking for attention at the back door, and open the card.
It is from a neighbour I’ve never met on a street a few blocks over.
“Just wanted to say hello and send a little treat for your best friend that I see in the window — he/she makes my day when I drive by. Happy New Year! All the best in your move.”
I smile with delight. Give Beau, who has been eagerly pressing his nose against the edge of the counter-top, desperately trying to get a sniff of whatever goodies are in the bag, a treat.
How delightful!
And in that moment I am reminded of the sheer beauty and magnificence of my fellow human-beings. I am reminded that we are all connected. All part of this one big human condition where we all have the capacity to see the wonder and awe in all things — even in the simple act of driving by a house where a dog sits on the couch positioned in the front window, head over the back watching the world drive by.
And we all have the capacity to connect through simple acts of kindness.
When I am finished speaking in front of the audience at Music for a Winter Evening, I want to curl up in a corner, breathe deeply and cry.
I have noticed it before, this space after a presentation where really, talking to people is the last thing I want to do. I’d rather just go off somewhere and cry.
At intermission, after I have finished speaking, I tell my sister and my friend Wendy who have come to the concert with me, how I feel. My sister asks, “Is it because it brings back all those memories?”
It is the logical assumption. Talking about those dark days when I was lost and waiting to die at the hands of an abuser could bring the fear and self-loathing back.
But that is not it. I know how strong I am today. I know how loved and cherished I am by so many. And, I know that, that was then. This is now. And in the now, my life is a beautiful tapestry of love, friendship, family, community, joy and deep belonging.
No. It is deeper than that this desire to cry.
And then I listen to Steve Bell talk about strength and vulnerability. How we must find a way to allow both to live within the dichotomy of both being present.
I feel it. That is the truth for me in that moment.
I have stood on that stage in front of hundreds of people and allowed myself to be vulnerable. In vulnerability I call upon my strength to rise up and hold me in loving arms.
It’s not easy. It’s not hard. It is not open. It is not closed.
It is vulnerable.
In the vulnerability of being willing to share the times when I was hurt and hurting, desparate and lost, I must allow my strength to carry me over the threshold of my vulnerability.
And that can feel scary. To be seen. Deeply.
The tears come because in that sacred space of being vulnerable, I know how truly human I am. And I feel blessed.
And the tears come, because the critter is also present. It wants to remind me what I forgot. Where I messed up. It wants to tell me who’s judging, for what and how. It wants to measure my sharing against others and say, “See, you are lacking.”
And that is when I must breathe. Deeply.
In. Out.
In. Out.
Yes, I want to cry. But my tears are not because I am sad or feeling the pain of the past. They are because in my human condition, no matter what I share, I still want people to see, ‘the perfect me.’ And I’ve just told them all the ways in which I’m not perfect.
How can I then walk into the crowd and be present when they come up to thank me, to tell me how my story impacted them. To tell me how they admire my courage, when deep within me, the critter is hissing, “It’s not true! It’s all a lie!”
And I smile.
The critter is who the critter is. He is not all of me. He is just the insecure part of me to which I must turn, step into his fears and whisper into the darkness, “I love you. We’re okay. We are safe in Love’s embrace.”
It was a magical, awe-inspiring evening.
Malcolm Guite opened the evening with his poem, “Begin the song exactly where you are/ Remain within the world of which you are made/ Call nothing common in the earth or air/ Accept it all…”
To accept it all, I must accept all of me. To accept all of me, I must love all of me.
Can you do that?
Can you accept your ‘woundedness’ and your wisdom? The broken places and the whole? The beast and the beauty?
Can you Accept it All?
Last night, I stood in front of several hundred people and shared a story of a time when I was lost.
In its telling, I found my heart break open in Love.
And while I cannot control how others receive that story or me, I can stand in the vulnerability and strength of knowing, in its sharing, other hearts were touched with all that I wanted to give. All I had to give. Love.
Listening to Steve and Malcolm, hearing Malcolm’s melodious voice share words of poems that resonated within my heart striking chords of awe and recognition, listening to Steve ask, “Why do we hunger for beauty” and feeling my heart break even wider open, I felt the presence of the Divine. I felt the wonder of Love shimmering in the darkened corners of that theatre as it struck a chord with every beating heart.
My heart beat in time last night. And in that time, I felt the truth of Steve Bell’s words ring within my heart.
In my vulnerability is my strength.
It is there in all of us. All we need to do to know it is to begin the song, exactly where we are.
Unexpectedly, I wonder if my words have meaning. Depth. Substance.
Most mornings when I write in this space, I am simply present. No artifice. No ‘gotta make people think this, feel that’. No, hmmm, what message shall I give today? It’s just me, the velvet night turning light outside my office window, the desk lamp casting a golden glow upon my keyboard and Beaumont, curled up on the floor behind me, sleeping.
This morning, the critter awoke and ego mind leapt into the fray. “You gotta make sure your words have meaning, Louise. You gotta write important stuff!”
The critter is a devious character. He likes to try to convince me that what I write must come from my mind. “Your heart is too soft,” he says. “Your heart will get you into trouble. Take care. Listen up and listen only to me. I will tell you what to write so it sounds important. Like you know what you’re talking about.”
And I laugh. Eventually.
The critter is not my friend. Though he thinks his job is to protect me, he’s really only acting out from my fears and limitations. He wants to keep me in the ‘box’ even though I know within my heart, there is no box.
Yesterday, two remarkable things happened. I followed a link to a man’s blog that resonated so deeply within me I felt seen, heard, known, even though I do not know this person. As I read his words I experienced courage. Humanity. Humility. Love.
And I knew, I am not alone.
Last night, I had dinner with a group of people organizing and performing at tonight’s Music for a Winter’s Evening where I will be speaking.
Malcolm Guite is an English poet, singer-songwriter, Anglican priest, and academic. (Wikipedia) He will be performing with Steve Bell, is a Canadian singer-songwriter and guitarist based in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. He is among the best-known Christian musicians in Canada and is an accomplished songwriter and record producer. (Wikipedia)
And then there’s me. I’ll be speaking just before intermission. Telling my story to inspire the audience to give with heart to two agencies, Next Step Ministries and Oxford House, who work with women healing from addictions, street-engaged life, prostitution and homelessness. I italicize ‘my story’ because for me, it is no longer ‘my’ story. It is a story that I no longer own, but is simply the gateway through which I step to live my purpose and life intention — to touch hearts, open minds and set spirits free to dance in a world of love, joy and harmony.
As we sat at dinner last night, Steve asked me to share a bit of ‘my story’ so that he would know how to introduce me when it’s time for me to take the stage and share.
I gave them the cliff’s notes and when I was finished, Malcolm pulled out his iPhone and read a poem he’d written about Mary, Mother of Jesus.
And the conversation soared.
And I knew, I am not alone.
Now, I have never sat at a dinner table in a restaurant and had a man, or woman, read a poem with such grace. It did not feel out of place. It did not feel uncomfortable and even though this morning, after a night’s rest, my critter mind wanted to revert back into its shell an play small, I remember how it felt sitting at that table. It felt… beautiful.
And I thought, this. This is the kind of world I want to live in. A world where people share from their place of magnificence, where we connect through that magnificence so that each of us can remember and feel and know we truly are magnificent.
And in our magnificence, we let go of mediocrity, our desire to play small, our fear of standing tall. We let go of giving into the voices that whisper in our heads to shut up! Stay down! To not shine. To not be our most magnificent selves.
I want to live from that place — where we each share our unique brilliance to make the world lighter and brighter so that together, we truly do awaken our humanity to see, we are all the same kind of different, and in that difference and sameness, we are each being the best kind of human we can be.
So Mr. Critter. I see you. I know your fear. I know your voice. And I want you to know. Your box is not my place to shine. My heart is my home. And when I am living from my heart, I’m safe out here in the light. Sure, I may stumble. I may even fall. But I have the best defense of all out here because out here — I am not alone.
_________________
And btw — there are still tickets available. They’re only $27.00 and the evening promises to be one of heart, music, soul and inspiration. I hope you can come!
Advent is upon us and I find myself ‘too busy’ to contemplate its arrival.
As I got the house ready for the market, I moved all our Christmas decorations into the storage pod in our driveway. Now, with the closing of the sale on this house imminent and the movers arriving next Tuesday to pack up our belongings and move them into storage until we complete the renovations on our new home, I will not be pulling out the decorations this year.
And I breathe.
The Advent season isn’t about the decorations or the sparkle and glitter of tinsel and bows. It’s about preparation. About quieting my restless mind and body. About breathing into the anticipation of new beginnings, new birth, new life.
And I breathe.
The calendar days will turn. Houses will be trimmed in holiday glitter and carols will be sung — whether I put up a tree, or decorate the mantle, the season isn’t about what I put out to recognize its presence. It’s about what I do to welcome this sacred time into my heart and life.
Below is a piece I wrote for a course I created a couple of years ago called, Make Time for the Sacred. It is a four week meditative journey through Advent. If you would like to join in this contemplative thoughtfulness of Advent, please click HERE. Over the next weeks, I will be working through the course material to reawaken Advent in my world.
Advent Journey. Week 1
Whether waiting for the birth of the Sun or the Son of God, advent is a time of waiting. Of
anticipation, of preparation for the coming of the light that will radiate around the world and
awaken the promise of life to come.
Today, I wait in the quiet of dawn suspended behind the darkness of night. Snow blankets the
world outside my window. I wait.
He is coming, they sing. His birth heralded around the world by shepherds watching and three
Kings drawing near. Angels we have heard on high.
He is coming.
And the world waits. It waits for a child to be born of Mary. A child for whom good tidings will
ring across the land. Hail Mary full of grace. Your time draws near.
Draw near. Draw nearer my heart and let its beat call you into this song of hope. Sing loud this
song of peace for all mankind.
Sing loud. Rejoice. Rejoice O Israel. To thee shall come Emmanuel.
Come. Come into my heart and let joy to the world resound with every breath. Let joy become
me.
Joy to the world. He is coming.
Let us rejoice.
Believer or non-believer, Christian, Buddhist, Jew, Muslim. No matter our faith, let us rejoice in
this prayer for hope, peace, love and joy in our world.
Let peace become us. Let there be peace among us. Let there be peace.
Every beginning searches for its end and every ending seeks a new beginning.
Are you getting tired of posts about moving yet?
You know that space where you mind feels like a soggy mash and your body like a weary, deflated blow-up Santa after the holidays?
I arrive home. Let Beaumont the Sheepadoodle out into the backyard. Go through the house to the front door. Open it. Check the mail.
Dare Boldly 