Bless this space between us

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I got caught up in all things wedding related this morning. Checking my lists. Creating a poster. And re-checking my lists again.

Which means, I didn’t get to writing my blog this morning.

Instead, I share this beautiful poem from John O’Donahue which the lovely Maureen Doallas of Writing without Paper shared with me awhile ago.

May it stir your heart and set your dreams a-fluttering as it does mine.

To Bless The Space Between Us

“For Equilibrium, a Blessing:
Like the joy of the sea coming home to shore,
May the relief of laughter rinse through your soul.

As the wind loves to call things to dance,
May your gravity be lightened by grace.

Like the dignity of moonlight restoring the earth,
May your thoughts incline with reverence and respect.

As water takes whatever shape it is in,
So free may you be about who you become.

As silence smiles on the other side of what’s said,
May your sense of irony bring perspective.

As time remains free of all that it frames,
May your mind stay clear of all it names.

May your prayer of listening deepen enough
to hear in the depths the laughter of god.”
― John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings

Our Hearts Are Full

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Collage from my art journal

Collage from my art journal

At a party friends held on Saturday night for our upcoming nuptials, someone asked me if I was ‘ready.’

I laughed.

My challenge, I told them, was that I was trying to think of the things I’d missed that I hadn’t thought of doing yet but, because I hadn’t thought of doing them, how could I think of them?

I can’t do what I don’t know needs doing.

We go through life desperately wanting to be prepared for everything. We make our lists, organize and sort and prepare for what we think we need to do or have or be in order to not be surprised by what happens next.

And then life happens in all its unexpected, glorious unpredictability. Life happens.

Yet, again and again, we keep looking to be prepared for everything, even the things we don’t know might happen or could happen simply because we are not in control of LIFE.

Everything I have read about wedding planning states, “Always have a Plan B”. In particular, if it is an outdoor wedding, have a Plan B in case it’s raining.

Our Plan B is to hold it under the tent and then quickly, after the ceremony, set the tent up for the reception.

Good Plan.

But…

Here’s the one I forgot to think about, and one none of the articles I’ve read on being prepared for everything and anything have mentioned either.

That’s great for the ceremony, but what about the photos?

I don’t have a Plan B for the photos if it’s raining.

And I wouldn’t have thought of needing one if I hadn’t been asked the question Saturday night, “Are you ready?”

Yesterday, I spent the day working on making sure I’d thought of everything — even the things I haven’t figured out I need to think about yet. I have my binder all set-up. I have samples of all the various pieces we’ll have at the wedding, from the signage to the thank-you gift tags to the wishing tree tags all within one folder in my binder.

I’ve got a list of all the things we need to take with us, from the decorations to the centrepieces to the string and fishing wire and duct tape we’ll need to hang and decorate the tent.  I’ve started to load things into big plastic tubs and pile together what I still need to use but will be taking with us.

Yesterday, C.C. and I met with our dear friend AJ who will be performing the ceremony. We went through the script and now I’ve got it all typed up and ready to go off to the Marriage Commissioner who is required by BC law to be in attendance. We wouldn’t want to get married and not have it official!

And then, as I was lying in bed this morning thinking about what I might not yet have thought about, I realized, I’d forgotten to ask AJ to ensure he mentions who the Marriage Commissioner is. While she won’t be saying anything, she does need to be acknowledged.

Back to the script to make another edit.

And so it goes.

There are a thousand and one moving parts to any event and while I may have thought of most things, there will inevitably be those I just haven’t considered if only because I don’t know to consider them!

Like life.

I don’t always know what’s going to happen next, but, what happens next doesn’t need to take me down if I am grounded in my one true self, standing true to my commitment to take every step, no matter the weather, in love.

Ultimately, that is what our wedding is all about. Love. It is a public testament of who we are as individuals, a couple and a family with our children standing beside us.

I may not think of everything before the big day. It doesn’t matter. Every step of this journey has been taken with the one ingredient that will ensure the day is sparkling and exciting and a beautiful reflection of what we share deep within our hearts. While we may need Plan Bs and maybe even Cs if the unexpected happens or the weather does what the weather might do, what we want most to share with our families and friends, to embrace them and envelop them as we come together is to say, no matter what life brings us, we can get through anything when we stand in LOVE.

When we stand together, love is all we need to weather any storm.

When we hold only love between us, nothing in the world can come between us or pull us apart.

When we give only love, only love is what we receive, no matter the weather or how many things are left undone.

When we create all our plans in Love, Love is all we need. Love is always the answer.

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And a huge, huge call out to Jane and Jackie and Tamara for organizing Saturday night’s wonderful party — in the excitement I forgot all about taking photos!  (hopefully someone will send me some and I can post them tomorrow to share all the festivities with you!) Also, thank you to my dear friend Wendy who pitched in to help set up and who was/is so incredibly generous in everything she does and gives. And to all who came to wish us well. You have added more joy to my already over-brimming with joy heart!  Thank you.

Happy Now!

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I awoke early this morning and after meditation, watched an interview with Mindfulness expert, Jon Kabat-Zinn, “Life is right now.”

In this inspiring talk, Kabat-Zinn says that mindfulness is living your life as if it really mattered and being in the present moment with open hearted presence and kindness with yourself.

It was the statement, “living your life as if it really mattered” that got me.

Am I living my life as if it really matters? Am I treating each moment as if it is the only moment where I can be present and kind and compassionate with myself, because that’s what matters most? That’s what is my greatest expression of love?

He goes on to say, “Mindfulness is a gift. A mystery. We are geniuses, miraculous beings and we ignore most of our beauty and drive ourselves crazy over all these things that are really not all that important. We’re driven by the urgent, miss the important and wind up a lot of the time being unhappy and then look elsewhere for the solution.”

Mindfulness practice is an important part of living as if my life really matters. For each of us, it means getting present and whole with ourselves and loving all of us without judging parts of ourselves as wanting, or less than or other than perfect reflections of who we are within and in the world.

Mindfulness is the art of being present with all of me as I am right now.

In this 7 minute interview Kabat-Zinn makes the case why each of us need to get more lovingly mindful right now.


I happened upon this interview with Buddhist Nun Fang Nhiem when I clicked  a link from Zen Flash.

I’m so grateful I clicked!

May your Friday be filled with loving kindness in all you are right now.  Happy Now!

 

Is there truth in dishonesty?

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In answer to the question, “How many times should you forgive someone?” Buddhist monk Ajahn Brahm replied, “Always one more time.”

I enjoy RSA Animate discussions. Supported by caricature-like sketches, speakers present complex issues in simple and understandable ways.

This morning, I watched a fascinating presentation by Dan Ariely from November 2012, “The truth about dishonesty”.  Towards the end of the presentation he gives 3 rationalizations why confession, as practiced in the Catholic church, might work.

One, the thought of having to confess acts as a deterrent. As in, I think about robbing a bank but then I’ll feel icky about myself and even worse, I’ll  have to go tell the priest what I did and he’ll think badly of me.

Two, after confession you feel good about yourself and want to hold onto that feeling for a little while longer.

Three, confession allows for a new page to be turned. When we’ve behaved badly, and we all have the capacity to behave badly under the right circumstances says Ariely, confession allows us to wipe the slate clean and begin again. This is particularly true for those who have forgotten they ahve the capacity to do good and adopted the ‘what the hell’ theory of living — I may as well be bad as I’m going to hell anyway. Through confession they are able to ask for forgiveness, make amends and move forward believing once again in their natural goodness.

But what if you’re not the one who did a ‘bad’ thing. What if you’re the one to whom badness happened? What have you got to confess?

Perhaps in those instances it is not confession that creates the space for moving forward but forgiveness.

Holding onto unforgiveness is sticky business. It keeps us swimming in the sea of unease, constantly fighting the current of our natural goodness.

Unforgiveness keeps pain alive.

Forgiveness is like confession. It clears the soul and makes room for our natural goodness to shine.

Beyond forgiving one more time is the space where thoughts of forgiveness no longer arise because in the space where our natural goodness shines, there is no longer any need to forgive.

Cutting corners.

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FullSizeRender (39)I cut corners last night.

I know. I know. Bad idea. If one believes the idiom, cutting corners leads to disaster, or at least a poor result.

I hadn’t intended to do it. I thought I could get away without cutting corners, but, after cutting one corner, it quickly became evident, cutting corners was necessary.

Which got me thinking about idioms and taking things at face value.

Cutting corners began appearing in print in the 1850s. It was originally used in reference to navigation with other uses in reference to riders following hounds and the ‘lure’ in the hunt versus taking shortcuts. Mark Twain used it in reference to a gondola in 1869 but there are many references to it even before that.  (Source)

I have never questioned the wisdom of the advice to not cut corners. On the surface, not cutting corners is a good thing. It keeps me on the path well-known, the route most travelled.

But what about taking risks? Exploring new paths? Testing uncharted waters?

Sometimes, you have to cut corners to discover a new way.

Like the corners I was cutting last night. They were on the programs I am creating for our wedding. Originally, I thought I could get away with leaving the corners straight. After testing one with cut corners versus straight, it was apparent that the cut corners give the programs a more finished look.

Except, I’d already completed 16 programs. When I’d started making them I’d considered cutting the corners but decided they were okay left straight. And they were, but…

I don’t want just ‘ok’. I want polished.

Not cutting them in the first place created more work in the long run. I had to carefully do each page individually, after I’d put the programs together.

16 x 5 pages each program x 4 corners each page = 320 corners   versus   (16 x 5 pages cut as one) x 4 corners = 64

Had I begun with cutting corners in the beginning, I could have cut in bulk, saving myself considerable time without impacting the look of the final product. Fortunately, I’m only 1/3 of the way finished the programs. I’ll definitely cut the corners in bulk going forward!

Which brings me back to not testing things I believe to be true only to discover the truth I thought was true, may not be so.

I didn’t start painting until I was in my mid-forties.

I’d always told myself, I am a writer. I have no artistic abilities. When I began painting on a whim one day with my eldest daughter I discovered the ‘truth’ I’d believed all of my life until then wasn’t true. Never having really tested my belief though, I couldn’t know its limitations. That day when I set out to paint with Alexis, my intention was to spend time with her doing something she loved. In the process, I discovered not only did I have talent, I love painting too.

Now, I could have gone through the rest of my life and been quite content with where I was at. But imagine…

Because I love painting, two years ago I built a studio in our basement so I could have my own creative space in our home. That space has been a gift. In that space the muse stirs me to places I can’t imagine until I set myself free to explore new ideas, fresh takes on the tried and true and even, to cut corners.

 

 

 

 

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Love is. We are. All One.

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The program

The program


To say that I have enjoyed the preparation for our wedding this month would be an understatement.

I have loved it, delving into each element to create something that is a reflection of C.C. and I, our relationship and the atmosphere we want to create on our special day.

Yesterday, my dear friend WC finished my outfit. It was a bigger job than either of us anticipated and her commitment to getting it done, her gracious sharing of her time and talents is amazing. I’m not sharing pictures!  That would ruin the big surprise! But I love the colours, the way the skirt flows and moves and how, because the fabric is from India, my mother’s heritage will be with me as I walk down the aisle. It is beautiful.

When I came home, I told C.C. I was going down to the studio to work on the programs. “But I thought you already had them worked out?” he said.

“I’ve changed my mind. I thought of a better way, something that’s more elegant than my original idea.”

He paused. Smiled and replied, “You know you are going to have to quit inventing things pretty soon, right?”

If I had long hair I would have flipped it over my shoulder and given him a coy, don’t state the obvious, kind of look. Instead, I shrugged one shoulder, and said, “eventually.” And headed down to the studio.

We are less than 3 weeks away from our wedding date and I am almost done. Almost.

In the meantime, I will continue to enjoy the creating for the sake of creating. I have a vision of what our day will feel and look like and I want to ensure I have all the elements that will surround each and everyone of us in beauty. I want our guests to feel that what they are experiencing is a special day, a day to celebrate, to connect, to know that love is not just ‘in the air’ but all around, in our hearts and minds and every breath we take.

For C.C., I want him to know that there is nothing in this world I would rather do than be married to him. That our love is deep. That our love is a forever kind of love capable of weathering stormy weather and blue skies flowing into tomorrow. That even though we are marrying in, ‘our later years’, we can celebrate and be excited and be happy and be in awe of this thing called love and our decision to be married, forever.

For our children, I want them to know that love is enduring. That while their parents have taken circuitous routes and along the way, stepped away from love they thought they never would, we are the cummulation of all our missteps and footsteps to this altar where their father from one marriage, and their mother from another, join together to say, I do, take this man/woman and these children to be my family. My tribe. My home.

And for our guests, I want them to know that love is eternal. It is filled with hope and promise. It is a covenant that even when we have taken missteps in our journey they were not in the wrong direction because they lead us here, to this moment, this possibility of turning towards another and connecting in love.

Love is a circle. A constant sea flowing all around us. Love is perfect but we forget sometimes, to see it through open eyes and caring hearts, allowing instead our fears and limitations to hold us separate from the promise of its presence.

Sometimes, in our belief we don’t fit into the circle, we move in and out of love, fearing it is not for us, believing it will not find us.  Love never has to find us. It is always present, always strong. And all we have to do to know its truth is believe with all our hearts we are worthy of the thing that connects us all, Love.

On April 25th, C.C. and I will be standing together with our children, stating for everyone to hear our belief in the power and the promise of love to heal, to connect, to create. And in our standing together, we will be the love we know is present.

Love is. We are. All One.

 

Tears know the language of our hearts

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I violated one of my cardinal rules last night. I cried in public.

Oh don’t worry, I didn’t do the sobbing mess of a puddle kind of tears that run mascara down my cheeks and make everyone rush for the kleenex, or possibly the Atavan. But I did cry. Or at least my eyes welled up and a couple of drops trickled down my cheeks.

It is primordial, this cardinal rule of not letting anyone see I care. It dates back to childhood days when as the youngest of four, my siblings would tease me endlessly about being ‘such a baby’. My siblings liked to tease me. I chattered a lot and asked questions that no one could answer, not that I really expected an answer, I just liked the wonderings. I believed in magic and fairy tales and was, or so they told me, ‘a spoiled brat’. In fact, ‘the brat’ became my nickname until well into my twenties when my mother suggested I might want to quit signing my letters home, “The Brat.”

I didn’t want anyone to know it bothered me. I didn’t want them to see that their words stung. And so I smiled and pretended it was okay. They kept telling me to ‘grow up’, ‘stop being so childish’, to get a life and I wanted desperately to fit in so I created rules for myself that would, I thought, make it possible for me to be part of the crowd. I thought my rules would keep me safe.

Crying was not acceptable and so, along with my rule of not crying in public I created an even bigger, inviolable rule, “Don’t let them see you care.”

Over the years I have learned I don’t need to play by my self-imposed rules. Where once I thought they kept my heart safe, I have learned these rules only keep my heart from beating freely. Challenge is, while my rules no longer serve and protect me, the ‘don’t cry in public’ is a tough one to boot out. When public tears threaten, my critter puffs himself up in fear-based indignation screaming at the top of his lungs that I must “Stop it!” And if that doesn’t work, he convinces me to dive for cover in humor.

The public tears came at Easter dinner last night. Our dear friends Kerry and Howard had invited us to join them for their annual feast and along with C.C.’s daughter, son and his girlfriend, we spent the evening enveloped in their warm hospitality.

Kerry is curious. She wants to know what makes people’s hearts beat freely, what stirs their souls and awakens their dreams. After dinner, she always asks her guests to answer a question. Last night’s was, “What is one significant blessing you’ve experienced since last Easter dinner.”

When TC, C.C’s son shared, I felt the tears start. And they just kept threatening to flow.

Such love. Such appreciation, gratitude, beauty, vulnerability.

It was all there at the dinner table and I was in awe and humbled by the heartfelt sharing of everyone.

And then, C.C. shared.

He was sitting right beside me and I felt his love embrace me. I felt myself wrapped up in caring and I just wanted to cry.

Instead, when it was my turn next, I said, “C.C. He’s my greatest blessing since last Easter. End of story.”

And I smiled.

And then I remembered, I am safe. I am okay. I am loved.

And I took a breath.

“Actually, the greatest blessing is learning to trust in love. To know that ‘disagreement does not equal rejection’ is true. That C.C. and I can disagree, argue, fight even, and it’s not the end of the world. It isn’t all over, in fact, it is our capacity to move through our disagreements that strengthens and deepens our love.”

And a tear fell.

They do that when confronted by truth. They fall. Gently. Peacefully. Joyfully.

Tears know the language of our hearts. Tears know the words our hearts cannot speak. Tears know our truth.

Once upon a time, I hid my tears because I didn’t want anyone to know I cared. I didn’t want them to know that I didn’t understand what they were saying or why it hurt my heart. I didn’t believe it was okay for my heart to hurt, or that I had the right to speak up when it did so I hid my confusion behind my smile and laughter.

Today I know, my heart only hurts when I try to pretend I don’t care.

Today, I want people to know I care, deeply. And so, I let my tears fall because I  know my tears are perfectly okay to express the joy and gratitude that flows like an endless river of love streaming from my heart.

Today I know, when I am moved to tears by the beauty of the hearts beating all around me, it is the greatest blessing of all.

Of saints and the not so saintly

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My father was a complicated man. Gregarious and generous, he loved nothing more than to invite strangers to our home for dinner and engage them in debates about politics and religion. Often, if his guests’ views were in alignment with his, he would pick the opposing perspective, just to get the conversation going.

He was a man of strong opinions and loud voice.

Conversely, he was soft-hearted and an easy mark for travelling salespeople who came to the door. I wondered sometimes if they had a secret list that only those who took to the road to sell vacuums and china and encyclopedia and Bibles knew about. On it, my father’s name was at the top. Go see Louis. He’ll buy one, maybe two of whatever you’re selling.

Over the years, my father bought pots and pans, a vacuum, a floor polisher, cutlery and sets of knives, beautiful china and at least two sets of the Encyclopedia Britannica. He also bought a Bible.

It was bound in red leather with gold embossing. The pages were paper-thin and silky. And then, there were the pictures. Beautiful, full colour, full page photos of paintings of biblical theme. Delilah cutting off Samson’s hair, pillars of salt, caravans to Damascus and Jesus and Mary and Joseph and all the Saints.

I loved the photos and would spend hours lying on the floor on my stomach, pouring over the Bible, reverently running my fingers over the paper as if through osmosis the stories could come alive in my veins, and thus my heart.

Along with the Bible, my father  also purchased a companion set of four books. Bound in red leather, The Books of the Saints told the stories of all the Saints ever canonized. From A – E, G – L, M – R, S – Z, each book also included beautiful photos of the Saints. I coveted those books, would sometimes sneak into the living room, take one down from the shelf and sit in the quiet of the morning eagerly reading and re-reading the stories of these what to me seemed almost deities and what they’d done in the world to become a Saint.

I wondered if I would ever have the courage, the strength of character, the heart and The Belief to do the kinds of things they had done to find my place not just in Heaven, but among the Saints of the world.

My mother told me I wouldn’t. I was no saint.

In fact, according to my mother, I was so far from being a saint she despaired there would ever be enough prayers in the world to get me out of Purgatory once I died.

It didn’t seem right to me. How could my fighting with my sister over who got to turn the pages of the Bible when we prayed together as a family on Friday nights keep me from Heaven? How could arguing with my brother over which Saint was the best Saint prevent me from one day being canonized myself? And how could asking question and after question about Who is God and where does he live if he’s only in church on Sundays displease God so much that he would slam the gates of Heaven shut even before I reached them?

These questions and more plagued me as a child. They caused me many a sleepless night, many a furrowed brow as I tried to figure out how to be  God-fearing, as my mother told me to be, when I knew that when I was scared, I always acted out.

Acting out was my middle name, or so my family told me. In fact, I came to believe so whole-heartedly in my inability to toe the line, conform and behave like everyone else, I gave up all hope of getting to Heaven, let alone becoming a Saint.

Which meant, I gave up on God, the Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

In my pre-teen, I think I’ll take this literally because it doesn’t make sense to me mind, it was God who put his son on the cross. Why would I want to have anything to do with someone who thought it was okay to crucify his only child? If it could happen to Jesus, it could happen to anyone and I for one had absolutely no desire to be crucified by angry, vengeful crowds who feared anyone who believed differently than them.

Turning my back on my Catholic upbringing, and the faith of my childhood, has been a blessing. It has given me space and courage to separate faith from religion and find myself where I stand, completely and fearlessly in Love with all humankind. No matter which God or what pew we worship from there is nothing separating us except our differing viewpoints. It’s allowed my heart to embrace my saintly and not so saintly qualities without fearing that the God of my childhood would not accept all of me.

And, it’s allowed me enough time and space to see that those four books and the beautiful Bible of my childhood were a rich and verdurous field of possibility. Filled with wonder and awe they continue to inspire my heart to seek the saintly in every sinner and the beauty in every soul today.

May this Easter weekend bring each of you great richness of spirit, beauty of heart and wonder in your soul.

 

All we have to do is let each other know, we care

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Yesterday, while on the phone with my eldest daughter, she stopped the conversation for a moment to thank a man as he walked past her. “Thank you for what you did,” I heard her tell the stranger. “You really made a difference.”

Earlier in the day, as she was leaving the hospital where her fiance has been for the past week, she started crying in the elevator. A man in the elevator followed her out of the hospital and walked behind her. After a few moments, he called out to her and asked, “Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?”

That question from a stranger helped her feel better. Less disconnected. Less alone.

JM, her fiance, had surgery a week ago and it is not all going according to plan. Complications, set-backs have all impacted his smooth recovery. That morning, another set-back had caused concern for both her and JM. “This is not uncommon,” the medical team supporting him tells them, but that doesn’t ease their concern, and fear.

Fear is not a good companion, especially in times of medical unease. It causes the mind to wander into dark and dim corridors. It blocks the light.

For Alexis, my daughter, fear is the unbidden companion stalking her peace of mind and confidence in the medical system. “Nurses are so busy, mom,” she said to me on the phone after I commented that they were doing everything they can to help JM. “What if they’re not able to do everything they can because they’re too busy?”

My heart is heavy. It is not easy to go through any medical situation. Your fate is in the hands of strangers; of those you must trust to be doing their best, to know what is the best thing to do and to be putting your best interests at the forefront of every action they take.

It is not easy feeling helpless and for my daughter and her fiance, it is compounded by the uncertainty of his progress in recovery.

For my daughter, it is also compounded by the love she feels for this man, and her desire to ease his pain, to know that he will be alright and to help him with more than just her loving presence and calming words.

Sometimes, all we can bring is our loving presence and calming words. Sometimes, there is no other action we can take to change a situation or be of service than to be present for someone where they’re at.

It is how I felt Monday morning, kneeling beside the man on the sidewalk. There was nothing I could do to change his journey. Nothing I could do in that moment to change the course of history, the path that lead him to that moment in time when our paths intersected and he crumpled to the ground and I knelt down beside him. Uncertain as to what I could do, I did the only certain thing I knew to do. I could not leave him lying on the sidewalk without stopping to ask how I could help.

Eckhart Tolle wrote, “When you become uncomfortable with uncertainty, infinite possibilities open up in your life.”

Listening to my daughter tell me about the man who stopped to ask her what he could do, kneeling beside the man on the ground, reading your comments in response to my post yesterday, it struck me that, stopping to ask about one another, caring about each other, reaching out to support one another, that is what all of us can do to change uncertainty into infinite possibility.

I don’t know what will happen to that man next. I don’t know if he will awaken from the darkness of his despair. I do know that had I not stopped, I would have carried the uncertainty of wondering if I could have, should have, done something other than just pass him by.

We don’t have to shake up the status quo or write the next great novel. We don’t have to find the cure for the common cold or discover hidden treasure to make a difference in the world.

To make the world a different place, all we have to do is look out for one another. All we have to do is let each other know, we care.

And in our caring attitudes, in our compassion for one another, burdens are lightened, pain is lessened and the darkness slips away into the light shining from our hearts connecting us in love.