Recently, I was asked, “What is the bravest thing you’ve ever done?”

I didn’t stop to think about my answer. It rose from my heart without hesitation.

“Apologize to my daughters for deserting them.  Being a mother is a sacred trust, and I violated that trust — and while I know I was in the throes of an abusive relationship, I am 100% accountable for the pain I caused them. It wasn’t about asking for their forgiveness, it was about forgiving myself — and those two things, apologizing and forgiving myself, took great courage and self-compassion.”

That was the first part of my answer. The woman who asked the question (she wanted to put my name forward for an award) wrote back for clarification. I responded:

“I didn’t want to apologize. I wanted my excuse to be — I disappeared for four months because I was so broken and lost in that relationship. The truth is, I was broken and lost, and so were they. They needed my apology more than I needed my excuses and in apologizing, I accepted my accountability and set myself free to forgive myself.

In forgiving myself I opened myself up to forgiveness which allowed love to flow freely within me and between us. Apologizing and accepting my accountability for causing them pain allowed me to step into their anger and pain, rather than resist it because I feared it would break me. It gave me the space and courage to be compassionate with myself when I felt overwhelmed by the sorrow and grief of all that happened to the three of us through that relationship. And, it opened me, and the both of them, up to the joy that comes from letting go of the past so that we could move forward through LOVE.”

I do not believe I would have recognized the power of forgiveness, or even known the power of being accountable, had I not gone through the Choices Seminar in 2006.

When I went through the program, I thought I was in pretty good shape – at least emotionally. I’d just spent three years rotor-rooting to the core of my being, healing from a relationship that almost killed me.

Fact is, I was doing okay. But if better is possible, is good good enough?

For all the richness and joy in my world, I didn’t see that there could be so much more if I was just willing to trust in the universe and let go of the mask I wore that said:  I’m okay. Everything’s under control.

There were many parts of my life that were ‘under control’. And then there were the parts that weren’t.

It was those parts and my desire to control them that were creating the pain, the irritation, the unease. Yet, because I was wearing my mask, I was hiding the truth from myself — my daughters were still hurting and because I was so determined to make everything ‘okay’ and to keep it all under control, they didn’t feel safe expressing their unease.

Along with the simple tools Choices teaches to live a better life every day, I found space to love myself unconditionally; wounds, warts and wisdom.

That means, loving the mother who was so lost and broken she deserted her children. It means, loving the woman who was abused and the woman who had the courage and commitment to grow through the pain of the past to embrace wholeheartedly her beautiful, joyful, life, and self, today.

When I learned to love all of me, including the broken pieces and the not so pretty ones too, I set myself free to live this one beautiful and awe-inspiring life without fear of never being enough.

What’s the bravest thing you’ve ever done?

Source: http://www.huffingtonpost.ca/entry/zen-buddhism-koan_us_563251dce4b0631799115f3c

My beloved and I did the unexpected on Saturday.

After weeks, months, years actually, of talking about renovating our house, we finally agreed.

We wouldn’t do it.

We bought a new house instead.

Now, that was not my intent!

I wanted to renovate this house. To create our mini-paradise right here.

C.C., my beloved, didn’t feel the value in renovating would be worth it in the long run.

We were stalled.

And then, on Saturday morning, his friend and realtor sent a photo of a house that had just been listed.

It’s on the river (in an area that is not on the flood plain). It has fabulous light. Room for my studio and great views of the river and trees and shrubbery along its shores.

And it’s even easier access downtown than where we live now.

We made an appointment to go see it, after taking Beaumont the Sheepadoodle to the vet. He’d developed another lump on his back haunches and I wanted to ensure it wasn’t a pre-cancerous growth like the last one. It wasn’t. Yeah!

From there, we travelled across the river to the house we both were hopeful looked as good in real life as it did in the photos.

And it did.

Which is why we are now moving December 1.

Which is also why I am now in a frenzy to declutter and organize and clear out this house in preparation for listing it on the market.

Which was also the reason I wasn’t too keen on moving — because really? Who wants to spend their time decluttering and organizing?

Yesterday I began the process.

I’ve put together a schedule of how I’ll tackle the task — it’s not a small one.

We have about 2800 sq.ft. (not including the double garage) of collected stuff and clutter and… okay, I’ll name it, junk.

Yesterday I began in the front hallway. That meant sorting through three decorative boxes — all filled with opened and unopened mail some of which was about two to three years old. There were a few papers I needed to save (wish I could have found our marriage license!) but I did find some tax documents and charitable receipts we needed! The rest… I shredded.

Culling and decluttering makes me confront all that I hold onto.  Yesterday, I threw about 20 keys into the recycling bin because I couldn’t find a lock to fit them.

If I were a Zen monk this would be my koan.

Grasshopper: “Master. I have done everything you said and let go of everything I held onto but still I cannot find the peace I seek.”

Master:  “There is no key to the peace you seek. Your peace is not locked up in the things you hold onto or let go of. To know peace you must kill your desire to find it.”

Yeah. Right. But seriously, the bigger questions is… Why do we keep getting paper copies of bills when we always pay them online anyway?

After five hours of sorting, ditching, cleaning and shining, I had created a bag of ‘garbage’ and a bag of giveaways, packed up two bins of scarves and purses and shoes and culled coats that didn’t need to be in the front hall closet or in our house for that matter as neither of us had worn those particular coats in years!

And now, the front hall closet looks tidy, organized, and welcoming — like it has room for somebody else’s coat if they drop by for a visit. Or, as the realtor suggested — the objective is to get it looking like it’s not a particular person who lives here but rather, like anyone could.”

And to do that, I’ve got to let go of even wanting it to look like anyone lives here.

Yup. Definitely a koan I cannot decipher. Unless, of course, I choose to be present in the act of decluttering without spending hours trying to figure out, do I give it away or keep it?

Perhaps the greater question is:  Does holding onto this object/thing bring me more joy, or does it bring me angst trying to decide what to do with it?

Then the answer is simple:  Hold onto only those things that bring me joy.

A friend asked me awhile ago to join her and other women in creating a book of wisdom for a niece who is turning 13.

I wondered, if I could go back to meet my 13-year-old self, what would I want to tell her about life, love, living? From the vantage point of my life today, what wisdom would I most want to share to inform her journey?

If I knew then what I know now  — Ten Things I would tell my 13-year-old self 

1. This too shall pass. There is no such place as forever. Nothing is forever. This too shall pass. Whatever you are experiencing, the trauma, the angst, the joy, they are all illusory. Transitory. Ride whatever is happening hands free, barefooted, body wide open to the experiences of life. Now is not forever.
2. You’re okay. More than okay, you are amazing. Just the way you are. There is no fashion too out there, no style too wild if it is what you want to wear. You are not too fat, too skinny, to short, too tall, too under-developed, over-developed. You are who you are, how you are. And that’s amazing.
3. You are worthy. This is a tricky one. Your mind wants to steal this one away and hide it because to know your worth, you must risk — the unknown. the perceived impossible. You must risk the ups and downs, ins and outs, overs and unders of life. To know your worth, you must know there is nothing, noone, no way anyone can steal it from you. It is your birthright.
4. Believe in you. Really, really believe in you. Don’t question your right to be. Don’t question you’re right to go anywhere, do anything, anyway you choose. Be you. Everyone else is taken. Wear your hair up, down, wild, straight. Colour it pink, gold, orange or green. It’s your body. Your hair. Your skin. Your life. Your right to believe in you and be you just the way you are.
5. Be kind. People will say mean things. Do cruel things. Be kind. Like you, they struggle to know their worth, find their place, feel their feelings. Like you, they are taking this journey of life without a manual, unable to control and predict everything life will throw at them. Like you, they are sometimes scared, sometimes silly, sometimes confused, sometimes wise. And like you, they too are looking to fit in, to belong, to be part of something bigger than themselves. Be kind, no matter how they act. Be kind.
6. You don’t have to find your meaning. You are your meaning. Live it with your whole heart wide open to life. Your meaning is not in wearing the latest fashion or having the coolest stuff. Your meaning is found in how you approach every moment, engage every person from that place where you know, no matter what you think they think about you, you think and know you are amazing, just the way you are.
7. Seek magnificence. Don’t go looking for mediocrity. Seek to be known through your magnificence and seek always to know others through theirs. Don’t look for fault, seek the lessons, seek the knowing, seek the value in all things.
8. Risk often. Life isn’t a predictable series of events over which you have ultimate control. The only person you have control over is yourself – and even then you’ll sometimes doubt just how in control of yourself you are. Risk anyway because, if you’re involved with others, there will be lots of messy, sticky, unexpected and sometimes painful things happening on your journey. They’re just things. It’s all just stuff. You are amazing  – I know, I said it already – it’s true. Believe it. Risk living from the place of knowing you are okay, you are amazing, you are magnificent. Risk living as if it’s true — because it is.
9. Smile often. Laugh lots. Dance always. And when you cry, cry out loud. When you laugh, laugh out loud. And when you see injustice, ask what can I do to change it, and do that thing with your whole heart and know, that is enough. You are enough. You don’t have to have all the answers, you only need to learn the one’s that will allow you to make the difference in the world you want to see and be. And that’s enough.
10.  Get creative. Don’t go looking inside boxes for the recipe for life. Live it not knowing what’s next. Live it expecting the unexpected. Live it free of holding onto hurts and pains, sorrows and regrets. Live it up. Fill it with joy. and always, always SHINE! Because you are amazing. You are worthy. You are magnificent. And that’s the only truth you need to know to live your life fearlessly in Love with all of you.

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This is a repost of a blog I wrote in 2014. We are packing up our offices today for a move to another building. Gotta get packing!

A friend and I are talking about ‘the world’. About the seemingly unending natural disasters that are decimating entire countries, about the sorrow and pain, the unspeakable acts of terror, the horror and grief in the world today.

And I am reminded of days long ago.

And I am thoughtful of what I learned then and know now to be true always — the power of my choice.

It was the year of my thirteenth birthday that I remember consciously having to choose. It was a momentous year. New country. New school. First year of junior High. My first period. My first kiss. My first boyfriend. And, the first time I remember feeling fear of the world around me.

We had just moved to France. It was the time of the ‘Algerian Crisis’. A couple of years after Algeria had released itself from the reins of a foreign government that had held control of its lands and its destiny for over a 100 years.

I remember staring out the airplane window at the peaceful-looking fields below as we approached the runway to land. They surrounded the city of Metz like a beautiful quilt of greens and yellows burnished in the Autumn sun.

A man met us at the airport. He piled our luggage into his vehicle and we climbed into the back. As we drove into the city that was to be our new home, he and my father sat in the front seat talking about ‘the troubles’. I sat behind them listening.

The man who picked us up told my father about the unrest. About a bar on the corner of a street somewhere in ‘the Algerian quarter’ where a group of masked men had walked in the night before and shot machine guns into the crowd. Images of bullets ripping through flesh, of bodies falling and lives ending seared my mind.

I suddenly felt unsafe in the world around me and my heart was sick.

When we got to our hotel, I started to cry. I want to go home,  I cried. I want to go back.

Back was to the land across the Atlantic. Back was to that place I’d lived for five years after the last time we’d returned from living on these foreign soils. It was the land of my birth. It was safe. In that place armed men didn’t indiscriminately shoot innocent bystanders dead.

I remember my mother telling me I couldn’t go back. My father saying, stop crying.

I had to make a choice. To choose to be present where I was with both fear and anticipation present.

I was excited about this new land, city, school. I was excited about the adventures that awaited.

And I was scared.

Would masked men appear on every street corner, blasting machine guns indiscriminately? Would I or those I loved be taken down by unidentified strangers seeking nothing other than to disrupt and destroy the world around them?

I had to make a choice.

I remember choosing to not let violence be my guide. I remember choosing to seek adventure, to find possibility for new friends, connections and opportunities.

I remember thinking I had no other choice.

I was not going to let fear consume me.

In recent months, drivers have torn through crowds killing innocents. Bombs have exploded tearing apart limbs and lives. Guns have blasted in war torn lands creating untold carnage and unspeakable acts of genocide have been committed against entire communities.

I cannot let fear consume me.

I cannot let what others have chosen as their path, change mine.

In every bomb and blast of gunfire is the reminder that life is fragile. Life is a gift. And while amongst us there are those for whom the gift of life is not as important as the fear that is sown into the hearts of many in their act of taking life away, I cannot let fear become my path.

A friend and I chatted about the state of the world and my heart felt heavy. My soul sick. I am reminded of those days long ago in France where I felt exposed. Those days when I first became aware that this earth upon which we walk, this planet whose air and waters and land we share with each other, holds both Love and hatred. Peace and fury. Harmony and hostility. Amity and war.

Just as long ago I felt grief for lost innocence sweep over me in the wave of fear that threatened to consume me, I must choose. Which side will I walk? Which path will I take?

And I am reminded. Choose harmony over hostility. Love over fear.

I am far away from those streets where bombs blew lives apart and still, I want to reach out and touch the people of those places and say, “I see you. I hear you. I feel with you the pain of what has happened.” I want to find just the right words and know, there are none that can make sense of terror.

In reverent silence, I surrender my fear and pray. In that sacred space I choose Love over fear and Peace invades my Heart.

No. 26 – #ShePersisted Series

I felt my heart coming home to itself the other night.

I was listening to Keith Jarrett. The Bremen Concert. 1975

And memory flooded my senses.

Music does that. Open doorways and gateways to memory, stirring those places where my heart beats wildly, my senses awaken, my soul moves.

It is 1978.

I am living west of Edmonton in a tiny enclave of houses tucked within rolling hills, surrounded by trees.

I am not fond of living in Edmonton, which is why I have chosen to live 45 minutes west of the city. Every morning  the sun pulls me eastward into the downtown core and every evening I feel the warmth of the sun on my face drawing me closer to home.

My neighbours across the dirt road from my house are an eccentric couple from Montreal. Claire and Alan. They would eventually leave Alberta to journey to Nelson where they would change their names and become immersed in an Ashram near Nelson. I heard that they divorced. That Claire returned to Montreal to be near her daughter and Alan stayed on at the Ashram.

For now, they are my neighbours and friends.

Most Fridays, after I returned from work, I would traipse the pebbled pathway between our houses to spend the evening with Claire and friends, sipping wine, talking, listening to jazz. Sometimes we’d meditate. Sometimes, we’d chant. Always, we connected and shared our stories and Claire would counsel me on how to ‘loosen up’. Live less tightly. “You gotta let yourself go, Louise,” she’d tell me. And she’d put a record on the player and start to dance and call out to me to join her.

It’s where I first met Keith Jarrett.

Not physically of course. But mentally. Emotionally. Spiritually.

His music would fill the room, soar out through open windows and pierce my heart like a thousand tiny raindrops falling on hot cement and I would feel my body move to his sometimes soft, sometimes wild notes and I would feel free.

Claire and I had a special friendship. She was twenty years older than me. Worldly. Dramatic. Wild and free. Alan was her third husband. He was 15 years younger than her and they were madly in love.

Sometimes, when the night was dark and the moon high, we would leave the house and go out into the forest that surrounded their home. There we would howl at the moon. Dance in the moonlight. Chant and meditate.

Sometimes, when the rain fell and the road between our houses was muddy, Claire would call me and tell me to meet her outside on the road. We would take off our shoes and socks and dance barefoot in the rain.

“Feel the earth, Louise,” she would exhort me. “Feel its richness squishing between your toes. Its juicy essence running over your feet, claiming you as its divine child. Feel it. Be it.”

And then we’d dance.

Claire danced like no one was watching.

Even in the woods, I was conscious of what others might think, or say, if they saw me.

It has taken me decades to rid myself of that sense of being watched. Of being ‘on show’. That everything I did mattered to others. That to step outside their expectations of what is acceptable or normal would cast me off into the netherlands of some other realm where I would be alone, and lonely, cut off from all connection because I was ‘different’ just for being me.

Over the years I have forgotten those days. Forgotten that friendship. But never Keith Jarrett. His music makes me come alive. Feel.

Over the years,  have tried at times to forget that young woman who was me, dancing self-consciously in the rain because she was afraid someone might be watching.

I dance in the rain and the sun and the wind and the snow now. I dance with abandon and let the music carry me away. It is my way of letting that young woman who was me, and Claire where ever she is, know that I no longer feel the pressure of having to look good for others. I’m okay being me.

I dance in the rain now and sing out loud because within me, the memory of Claire is calling out as she always did, “It’s okay,” she calls. “Dance. Dance like your heart is on fire. Dance like no one is watching. Dance because that is what you want to do, right now, right here. Dance because your soul is calling you to be free.”

And I dance.

Photo by Andrew Montgomery on Unsplash

I am deep in meditation.

I have arrived at the Calgary Centre for Spiritual Living on Sunday morning early for the 45 minute meditation before the service.

It is a form of meditation I had not experienced before. Taizé is a contemplative worship service based on short chants and songs, interspersed with silence, prayer, and poetry.

I am immersed in the silence when suddenly something hits my leg.

I start. Open my eyes and a woman is crawling over me to reach a seat further down the row. Her foot has hit my leg as she went past.

Harrumph! My critter mind immediately awakens.

What is she thinking? I know they put a sign on the door that reads, “Meditation is in session. Please do not enter.”

How could she be so discourteous? How could she disturb me?

I breathe. Quickly close my eyes again and return to the meditation.

But my mind will not be still. It wants to rag on her ‘bad’ behaviour. It wants to make me a victim.

I breathe again.

Bless her. Bless me.
Forgive her. Forgive me.
Love her. Love me.

The prayer rises in my consciousness like mist from a river in the early morning light.

I feel its comfort infuse my body with gentle mindfulness.

Peace is restored.

When the meditation ends, I turn my head to smile at the woman beside me, the one who had disturbed me, but she is sitting with her eyes closed, deep in meditation.

What? Really?

But I’m ready to let her know I forgive her for being so rude! How can she be sitting there with her eyes closed as if she doesn’t have a care in the world?

Harrumph!

And I smile at myself and repeat my silent prayer.

Bless her. Bless me.
Forgive her. Forgive me.
Love her. Love me.

I wonder, momentarily, if she’s keeping her eyes closed because she’s worried I might say something to her.

I let go of my wonderment.

Whatever she is doing is not my business.

The critter and I have a gentle little conversation… Yes. She did disturb me. No. It was not intentional. Yes. She did ignore the ‘rule’. I am not the Centre’s police. The world didn’t end, nor did my meditation.

Am I willing to see the parallels between my disquieted mind and my meditative state? I am willing to look at how easy it is for me to be pulled from serenity into discord? Can I see the parallels with the world around me?

I went to service early Sunday  morning to sit in meditative silence.

In the silence I discovered my critter mind crawling around in the muck at the bottom of the river waiting to stir up dirt the minute I became disturbed.

Do I give ‘the mud’ my power or do I whisper a prayer of peace for both of us; for all of us?

It may have taken me a moment to get there, but in getting to prayer, I returned to the core of my spiritual essence and belief in the power of forgiveness.

It is not just for ‘the other’.

Its power is for me too.

When I feel my human response to be right or strike out, the path to reconciliation with myself and the world around me is through self-compassion.

There is no ‘us and them’ in self-compassion. There is only everything I need to feel at peace, whole and joyful and it begins with forgiveness of all, for all, with all.

There is no end to self-compassion. There is only the beginning again where I invoke the teachings of  Bhagavad Gita, “Curving back on myself, I begin again and again.”

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It has been several years since I shared in soulful contemplation at the CCSL – they have just taken up residence in their new digs. Friday night, C.C. and I were guests at their opening concert. It was amazing! Pat Campbell their new minister (okay she’s been there 4 years but is new to me) is an inspiring and enthusiastic voice who challenges and inspires my spiritual essence. It feels  like home to me.