Thank you President Obama.

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How many times have you heard the phrase, “I couldn’t help myself”?  How many times have you used it?

Well, this morning it’s true for me. Last night, I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t not stay up to hear Mitt Romney’s acceptance of what was true for him in the election last night. I couldn’t not stay up to listen to President Barack Obama accept what was true for him.

I’m glad I did because, I couldn’t help myself. I had to do it.

Even though I told myself, I can hear the replay tomorrow. It’s past midnight. I’ve got to get up in the morning. I couldn’t not stay up to hear them live.

President Obama’s speech was passionate, heartfelt and inspiring. I like the man I’ve seen on news shows and in debates. I like what he stands for. I like how he responds to criticism and to accolades. I like him. And while I’m not American, listening to his speech last night, I gained a better understanding of my neighbours, and friends, to the south and I gained a deeper appreciation of what makes one man, and one nation, great.

This is not a political column. I don’t pretend to have great insight into the workings of the ‘big machine’. But last night (early this morning) I came to a realization of what it is I so admire about my neighbours to the south. You are not victims of the past. You are victors of the present. You are visionaries of the future. 

In his speech last night, President Obama said.

“That’s why we do this. That’s what politics can be. That’s why elections matter. It’s not small, it’s big. It’s important. Democracy in a nation of 300 million can be noisy and messy and complicated. We have our own opinions. Each of us has deeply held beliefs. And when we go through tough times, when we make big decisions as a country, it necessarily stirs passions, stirs up controversy.

That won’t change after tonight, and it shouldn’t. These arguments we have are a mark of our liberty. We can never forget that as we speak people in distant nations are risking their lives right now just for a chance to argue about the issues that matter, the chance to cast their ballots like we did today.”

He made me want to get up and get engaged, get involved. He made sense of why we all need to vote, to exercise our right to have a say in the very vehicle we have constructed to determine who leads our cities, our provinces/states, our country. And then he said,

“Tonight you voted for action, not politics as usual.

You elected us to focus on your jobs, not ours.”

And then…

“But that doesn’t mean your work is done. The role of citizens in our Democracy does not end with your vote. America’s never been about what can be done for us. It’s about what can be done by us together through the hard and frustrating, but necessary work of self-government. That’s the principle we were founded on.”

Ah yes, people are elected to office to represent ‘the people’, not their self-interests. They take up the mantle of governance to be the voice and counsel of those who elected them to office. It is a reciprocal relationship and yet, so often, we ‘the people’ forget our role in that equation. We acquiesce to politics, to authority, to people in position to whom we not only cede power over governance of our cities and provinces and country, but also our lives.

I stayed up late last night to hear a great man speak up and out for a great country.

Sure, I can sit here in the northern climes of Canada and be part of the voices that deride or mock our neighbours to the south. Sure, I can criticize what I judge to be their short-sighted financial policies, their lack of universal health care, their military apparatus, their pollution, their greed, their arrogance.

But none of it would be true and all of it would be unworthy. Of them. Of me. Of my country.

Because what I heard President Obama say last night is that it takes everyone to create change. It takes everyone to make a difference. And in my view, that everyone includes me. It includes all of us living and breathing the shared air of this planet earth we call home.

Sure, the United States is a powerful country — but, they stand on the same continent, share the same waters, air, land that we do here in Canada. And between our continent and others on this planet, there are the shared waters that flow between us.

We are all connected.

And the sooner I let go of my belief that we are separate and distinct, disconnected through the name of the country stamped on our passports, the sooner I’ll find my difference connecting to what makes we humans great — our capacity to not just improve ourselves, but rather, our capacity to transform our world, person by person, heart by heart.

Thank you President Obama for reminding me about my capacity to make a difference. Thank you for reminding me that we are all born to live our greatness. It’s not just your job. It’s mine too.

Being present makes a difference

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Calgary is a car friendly city. It’s streets and avenues are designed to carry traffic, not necessarily make the way easier for people. The downtown core is laid out with one way streets designed to make entry and egress easier, faster. You drive through downtown, not to the core.

Yesterday, as I walked from one meeting to another, I chose to consciously be present on the sidewalk as I walked. I chose to notice how I moved between people, cars and signposts. How I was present amidst people, cars and signposts.

Self-preservation won. If I didn’t stay present to the cars, I could easily have gotten in their way. If I didn’t stay conscious to the street numbers I could have lost my way.  At one point, crossing from one side of the street to the other that bisected a one way avenue, I thought, “Hmmm… They put the name of the street only facing the traffic moving from the east to the west. I was walking west to east. To see the name of the street I was crossing, I had to turn my head and look behind me.”

Last night, in the Primetime for Emerging Women course lead by the irrepressible and essential Kerry Parsons that I am taking, we began with an exercise of ‘being present’. We stood in front of each person, and breathed into our own presence, their presence, our connected presence in the room. And when we became truly present, we said, “I am here.” and when they felt our presence truly here, they responded, “I see you here.”

It was a powerful and enlightening process. Slowly, I felt myself sink into being present. Completely. Openly. Honestly. Present. No veil. No barrier, no ‘bubble’ protecting me from being present to myself and the other. It was beautiful.

I thought of my walk earlier in the day along the streets of downtown Calgary. Like the cars, even though I was focused on ‘being present’,  to ensure my safety and protect my limited time to get from point A to point B, I was more focussed on the information I was gathering about getting to the address where I was going, rather than the act of how I was walking, consciously connecting to the world around me.

It’s my Bubble World Attitude. I walk, drive, am, operate in the world from a place where fear of getting hit, falling, tripping over obstacles, running into dead ends, getting to the ‘church’ on time, keeps me doing whatever it takes to keep me safe — and separate — from the world around me.

In my Bubble World, vulnerability is not necessary — the thinking goes, “It’s not safe to be vulnerable walking the streets. You might get hit by someone or something.” In fact, when I got to my meeting, one of the people I was meeting with had somehow received a cut on his ear that kept bleeding. It was a windy day so the assumption was, a piece of debris had flown past and nicked his ear.

Aside from wearing a helmet, how do you avoid getting nicked by flying debris on a windy day in Calgary?  (and yes, that’s a rhetorical question)

Like life, we can’t control the world around us. We can’t dictate how it will unfold, who will do what, go where, go how we determine. It is in its very unpredictability and unexpectedness that opportunities unfold, miracles happen. This is life. Nicks, bruises and falls are inevitable. It’s what we do with them that makes a difference.

Challenge is, in my bubble world attitude, I can often operate from a place of perceiving the world as filled with opportunities to stumble. And in my desire to not, I miss those special moments where I can fly free. I miss those divine opportunities to risk it all and leap into the unknown, confident in my gifts, my strength, my capacity to weather any storm and life’s desire for me to achieve all that I am here on earth to become.

The Universe is with me on that one — it needs me, wants me, has evolved through me to create opportunities for me to become all that I am when I let go of fearing, the fall.

And to inspire you this morning, I am sharing Dawna Markov’s signature poem from her book, I will not die an unlived life.  We read it last night during the course and while I’d read it before, I’d never quite heard it like that! Open. Present. Vulnerable to the beauty of her words shimmering in the light of awakening.

I encourage you to take a moment during your day to read her words out loud, to savour each morsel and let them sink into your conscious awareness of being present, risking your significance to live, truly live, from that wild and brilliant place of your magnificence.

I Will Not Die An Unlived Life

by Dawna Markova

I will not live in fear
of falling or catching fire.

I choose to inhabit my days,
to allow my living to open me,
to make me less afraid,
more accessible;

to loosen my heart
until it becomes a wing,
a torch, a promise.

I choose to risk my significance,
to live so that which came to me as seed
goes to the next as blossom,
and that which came to me as blossom,
goes on as fruit.

Letting my heart sing makes a difference

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My eldest daughter sent me a text last night. “I am really grateful for you” she wrote.

My heart sings.

My youngest daughter and I have a dinner date on Thursday night. It’s our commitment to each other to do it at least twice a month.

My heart is light.

I haven’t spoken to my mother in weeks.

My heart is heavy.

To lighten my heart I must do the things that unstick it. I must soften it through kindness, compassion, Love.

Note to self. Phone my mother.

Today.

My eldest sister Jackie is our mother’s caretaker. She takes her to doctor’s appointments, the bank, lunch. She and her husband have her out to spend a weekend at their house at least once a month. My mother isn’t always the easiest person in the world to spend that much time with, but my sister does it. She loves her and expresses her love through the thing my mother wants most, time with her daughter. Time being part of the circle of love that she gave birth to.

Awhile ago, my mother told me she didn’t want to have lunch with me because I would probably say something to make her angry. I got angry and didn’t ask her again. Though I do think about dropping off flowers, or a note, or something sweet to the assisted living lodge where she lives.

Problem is, I only think about it. I don’t put action to my thoughts.

All the good intentions in the world won’t create a world of goodness if I do not act on my intentions.

See, my mother and I never had that great a relationship. We never spent time together, mother daughter, without what I judged as her neediness and what she saw as my rebellious nature clashing. As we aged, I resisted time spent defending myself against what I judged to be her onslaught of criticism. She resisted time spent with my constant defensiveness. I like to deal in reality, I told myself. She likes to live in make believe.

And now we sit, two women on distant shores of the river that divides us — figuratively and literally. We live in the same city but she is on the north side of the of the river flowing between us.

I have a lot of excuses for why I don’t connect with this woman who gave me birth. And believe me, all of them are good!

I mean seriously. She has a phone too. Why doesn’t she just call me sometime?

I can be so funny when I’m riding roughshod over my conscience and my heart, flinging off excuses as I gallop through fields of self-justification.

My mother is 92 years old. She wants only peace in her life. Why would she want to spend time with a daughter who she sees as having habitually created strife in her life?

Now, don’t get me wrong, my mother isn’t ‘innocent’ in the distance between us. There’s a lot of water under this bridge and I’m not the only one who poured it in! (So there!)

It took two to create this ocean between us, says my heart with a defiant stomp of its heavy left foot.

Softening my heart isn’t about right and wrong. It’s about doing the right thing. Doing the things that unstick the hardened areas of my heart to let harmony and joy flow all around.

It takes two to keep the distance static. It only takes one to shift direction to start closing the gap. It only takes me to make the step across the river.

And all the self-justification in the world doesn’t really cut it when my heart knows that which it wants most. I am not being true to myself when I resist Love.

Note to self. Call my mother. Take action. Today.

What about you? Is there someone in your life where your thinking is consumed with self-justification and rationalization to ensure you keep your distance? Is there somewhere in your heart that needs softening?

And yes, I know. You gotta protect yourself. You gotta keep your distance….

Really?

I know I have no need of connecting with some people from my past. My thoughts of them are not filled with rationalizing why I shouldn’t.

But with my mother… my thoughts are often filled with reasons why it’s not my fault I need to keep my distance. And in my rationalizing why ‘it’s not my fault’, I create a faultline that has more to do with keeping me standing on the other side of the river, resisting opening up to that which I want more of in my life. Love.

Time to change directions. Time to make a difference in the area of my life where I need to move on, towards and into Love. Time to let my heart sing.

 

Making a Difference. Guest blog by Sarah Moss

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I first met Sarah Moss at a course we were both attending six and a half years ago. In my eyes, she had it all. Her heart was beautiful and her world was complete with a loving husband. A beautiful son. Caring parents. Friends. She looked to me like the perfect wife, mother, daughter, friend.

But surface observations never reveal the depth of someone’s life. Over the next few years I’d get to know Sarah better as we shared those areas of our hearts we don’t reveal on first acquaintance.  I discovered there were places of deep pain and sorrow in Sarah’s life. Her marriage broke up, she struggled to make ends meet and come to grips with what had happened. And through it all, I saw that which I had observed about Sarah when first we met — her beautiful heart shining brightly.

Today, Sarah shares her gifts of the written word in her Guest Blog.  Please do drop a note for Sarah, and let her know you too see the beauty of her heart shining brightly.

Making a Difference

by Sarah Moss

For years I dreamed of being the “ideal” mom, homemaker and wife. I envisioned my life would be a perfect one, where I did everything right, my marriage and children would be as perfect as possible and problems would be far and few between. Was I ever wrong! Now, living in reality, in the midst of a divorce, raising two boys on my own who are almost never clean and tidy and have special needs that take a lot more time and energy than I ever thought possible. Cooking, baking, canning and yes, even housekeeping some days, take a definitive sideline. I’m realizing that making a difference sometimes just means accepting the world as it really is.

When I cling to the belief that I must be perfect, that I should be able to accomplish everything and still have energy left in the day, I get so worn out that I can’t figure out up from down, left from right and it all falls to pieces. When I stop, take a deep breath and look at what I can realistically accomplish, I realize that I can do everything I need to. I need to revise my view of what being the “ideal” mom is. I don’t have to have all meals planned and prepared in advance, I don’t have to make all their clothes by hand, canning will likely not happen until the boys are MUCH older, if then, and baking is a novelty to be done on special occasions or during home economics class (I homeschool). What the “ideal” mom may look like to me is that I spend time with them, teach them, mentor them and provide for them while still taking time to take care of me.

When I example to my boys that it’s okay to take care of me, I teach them that it’s okay to take care of themselves too. When we recognize we have a need and we take steps to meet that need, we are living healthfully and it will make a difference! If I can teach them that they don’t have to be perfect, they just have to do their best, I will have made a difference in the world. When I example to them that I expect myself to be perfect, I destroy that difference. Right now, I’m working hard at exampling to them that they have great worth, that they are loved and that healing is an important process to undertake. When life covers us in the mud of its horribleness, it’s okay to take the time to clean it off.

I’m learning and feeling my way along this process, it takes time to change, but by choosing change I make a difference immediately in my home and circle of influence, as well as making a difference for the future because I am raising men who hopefully will not expect perfection, either of themselves, their families or their circle of influence, instead drawing others to only do their best and to allow themselves time to heal and care for themselves when it’s needed.

I’m praying that by living life to my best, by allowing perfection to fall by the wayside, that I’ll make a difference in the world; in the world we live in now and in the world my children will lead in the future.

Heroes in our midst

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Saturday! And time to celebrate heroes in our midst.

In the aftermath of Sandy, New Yorkers and millions of others along the eastern coast continue to dig out from Sandy’s wreckage. Some continue to be without electricity. Some struggle to get gas. To buy groceries. To rebuild. And through it all, brave acts are performed. Neighbours connect. Lisa Rosenberg writes on her blog, Rising from the Depths in the name of Bipartisanship, “We’re all managing to stay in touch somehow, finding friends in corners of town with power, who invite us to a “charging-up” get together:  bring your devices, a load of laundry: enjoy a cup of hot coffee, a few hours of heat.” The New York marathon is cancelled. Rebuilding continues.

Lisa and her neighbours and everyone who is continuing to dig out from the storm are all heroes.

This morning, reading Elizabeth’s post, My Values #3 Dependable, at Almost Spring, I was inspired by her words of wisdom, truth and beauty. Elizabeth writes of what makes the value of being ‘dependable’ so important, and how she expresses it everyday — very inspiring!

Elizabeth is a hero.

Yesterday, as Ellie the wonder pooch and I walked along the path, we caught up to a woman whose walk consisted of moving a few feet forward, stopping, looking up, binoculars pressed tightly against her eyes. When we approached, she dropped the binoculars and smiled. “What do you see?” I asked. “I see Pine Grosbeaks feeding on the pinecones,” she replied. I looked up into the snow laden boughs of the pine tree and was in awe of what I had not seen before. “And I see beauty everywhere,” she said raising the binoculars to her eyes once again as Ellie and I walked away, albeit, more slowly now to give us time to savour the beauty everywhere.

That woman is a hero. She reminded me of the beauty all around. To stop. Slow down. And simply savour the world around me.

And, one final retrospective hero accolade.  When I visited Elizabeth’s blog this morning, she used a quote from Ben E. King’s 1961 hit, Stand By Me. Except, it was attributed to John Lennon. I went online and sure enough, there are many instances where the lyrics to Stand By Me are attributed to John Lennon. And I know they’re not. In 2009, I worked with a group of client musicians at the shelter where I used to work and recorded Stand by Me. Area musicians came in and volunteered their time and talent. Lanny Williams from The Beach Advanced Audio donated studio time and staff to cut the final recording and Lewis Levin of LL Video volunteered his time to create the video. It was an amazing project. Surrounded by such giving and talented people made a difference.

So… as my Saturday sharing, I share the recording here.  Everyone involved in that project was a hero. Clients, staff, volunteers, musicians, everyone. Heroes all.

A blog for Family Violence Prevention Month

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November is Family Violence Prevention month and I’ve decided for this month to dedicate Fridays to a post on the subject.

I was in an abusive relationship for 4 years 9 months and know the terrors of what can happen in your mind and life when you fall in love with an abuser. I know how it hurts the one’s you love, your family and friends. And, I also know that we can stop it. We can break free and when we do, life opens up in limitless possibilities.

We can stop abuse. It takes all of us to commit to not do the things we do or contribute to its presence in our lives. I cannot change an abuser. I can stop their abuse in my life.

A Journey of Love

For four years nine months I endured a relationship of escalating terror. Looking back, I can’t remember what it is that kept me so stuck in his abuse. Looking back I wonder sometimes, what was I smoking? It must have been powerful stuff. And then, I remember the fear. Fear soaked into my pores. It damned the blood pounding into my heart. It permeated every crevice of my mind, consuming my thinking with terrifying reminders of why I could not leave him.

When it was really bad, and the abuser raged or sat in silent condemnation of yet another of my transgressions, I would slink into a closet, close the door and sit in the dark, my eyes shut to any crack of light trying to enter the dismal confines of my mind. Repetitively I would pet the pooch’s silky fur, clinging for dear life to this one being who laid her head upon my scrunched up knees and loved me unconditionally. Sometimes, when he held onto the pooch and would not let her come to me, I would crawl into the closet and dig my nails into my wrists, scraping the skin back, trying desperately to feel something, anything, other than the pain of being me. I wanted so desperately to peel my skin away, layer by layer to reveal the veins and vessels that carried the blood of life within this person who felt so dead to me. I wanted to see who lived within me. I wanted to expose the bones that were supposed to hold me up yet seemed to be crashing down from within me. I wanted to die.

It is hard to describe how he implanted such terror into my life. It was a moment by moment seeping away of my essence. When I met him, I was a partner in a communications firm. I had my home, my daughters, my life. He kept telling me that everything I had was nothing compared to what he would give me. I would say, “But I’m happy with my life today.” And he would laugh and ask me how that could be and he would remind me of what a mess my life was. I couldn’t figure that one out. My life wasn’t perfect. But it wasn’t a mess either. Yet, he persisted and rather than laugh back at him, I retreated into silence. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps all that I had accomplished meant nothing compared to all that he had done and wanted to give me.

And then the stalking and the phone taps and the threats of bomb’s under my car and the stories of evil men threatening to kidnap my daughters and drug them and put them into the sex trade began. And I fell into despair. The unreal began to feel too real and I could not risk challenging the truth.

By the end of that ride, I did not exist. I had completely submerged my identity and scrunched it up into a tiny pocket tucked high up into the corner of my mind as I became the vessel of his deceit. We were in hiding as he tried to evade the police. He was searching for a way out of the country. I was searching for a way out. Of life. Of being there with him, And so I existed, telling myself that at least I had gotten him away from the one’s I love. They didn’t deserve him and his abuse. But I did.

For four months my daughters, family and friends didn’t  know where I was. And I was too afraid to call and tell them I was okay. Because that too would have been a lie.

I was not okay. I wanted to die. Every moment of every day. Waking or sleeping. I wanted to die. I watched buses and semi-trailers looking for an opportunity to fall into their path or crash into the solid substance of their massive sides as they sped through my life. I counted pills. I fondled razor blades. I imagined death in every form and prayed for it to come and end the darkness that was my world.

And through it all, I stayed silent. I acted the role he needed me to play to convince those who needed convincing that we were who he said we were. Even though I knew it was all a lie. I had become his lie. I was his shill. His creation. The only truth I held onto was my love for my daughters. To take my own life would be to make a lie of my love for them. And I couldn’t do it.

And then, at 9:14 am, May 21, 2003, the police walked in and arrested him and I received the miracle of my life and thus began my journey into myself, into beauty, hope and the joy of living free of his abuse.

It has been an amazing journey since that beautiful day in May. A journey filled with sorrow, tears, laughter, joy. A journey like no other. A journey of Love.

I am blessed. Once upon a time I was an abused woman. Today, I am a victor. Today, I know my power comes from within me. Today, I know my own strength. I cannot stop an abuser being who they are, but I can stop abuse in my life. And I have.

 

A Croning Celebration makes a difference

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I love ritual. Love the idea of it, the need of it, the power of it.

Which is why, when my beautiful friend Marilyn asked if I wanted to be part of a Croning Celebration, I jumped at the opportunity.

Imagine! A group of women coming together to celebrate all that makes this third cycle of our lives incredible.

Imagine! 10 wise women plus a ‘maiden’ gathered in a circle to consciously choose to welcome in the changes time has cast upon us through our being here on earth as women.

Imagine!

And there I was, one of 10 Crones gathered in a circle to mark the passing of the years, the flowing out of the childbearing gifts of our bodies, the gathering up of our power and the releasing out of our wisdom. I was there. I am that woman. That Crone.

I am blessed.

Cheryl Hinds, our amazing guide last night at the Croning Celebration, created a delightful evening designed to invoke spiritual reflection, dignity and wisdom. She spoke of time passing, of bodies changing, minds opening and filling up with the knowing of who we are.

She spoke of wisdom gained through living our lives through infancy to childhood, adolescence to maiden and mother and now, Crone. We shared, the wisdom we want to give the world, the gifts we want to bestow, the beauty we want to reveal.

We laughed. We meditated. We donned purple capes and wreaths of flowers. We clasped amethyst and cast out concern and trepidation of our aging and welcomed in the wonder and beauty and sheer delight of being women of this age. We set our intentions, made our commitments to ourselves and eachother and the world. We declared our intention to be true to ourselves, to walk our talk, to become a link between the wisdom of the ancient and recent past, women of today and the women of the future.

It was amazing.

Heartfelt. Joyful. Memorable.

And it made a difference.

To mark this age, this third cycle in my life,  this place and space and being in time where I can say with joy and elation, I am a Crone. I am one of the circle of elders. I am wise woman. Seer. No longer the ‘doer’ I share my wisdom and gifts with those around me to illuminate the path with my light of knowing the power within must move without to become the shift we must all make to create a world of wonder. A world where peace rises through the ashes of the past where we believed to ‘have more’ and do more was the answer to creating and being more of who we want to be in the world.

Having more is not the answer. Becoming more attuned to the rhythms of our bodies, the cycles of our lives, the wonder of our hearts — these are the places where we find the more. these are the spaces where shift happens, miracles unfold and beauty awakens.

I took part in a Kroning Celebration last night.

Ritual. Laughter. Joy. Women gathered around a flickering candle. Women sharing that which makes us so powerful. Our beauty. Our community. Our age. Our gifts.

I am grateful.

 

 

 

 

Miracles happen when we consciously make a difference

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He is standing at the Parking Pay Machine as I pull into the spot next to the “Pay Here” machine in the parking lot I use every day when I’m downtown.

I recognize his frustration. The hand moving forward. Moving back. Forward. Back.

Card in. Card out. Insert again. Remove again. Card in. Card out. A repetitive motion seeking a different outcome and receiving the same every time.

It’s not uncommon to witness this. I know. The Parking Pay Machine is a temperamental beast. It spits out annoying messages with ease. “Card not readable.” “Not valid.” “Declined.”  It seems to have a repertoire of messages to thwart the most optimistic of parking payee. Maybe it knows to not pay gets the system more dollars…. 🙂  No. That would be nefarious. Underhanded. Parking lot owners would never resort to ticketing and towing. They’re not in cahoots with tow truck companies. Right? ….

As it is, the man at the machine is getting frustrated. It is rippling in the air around him as I step out of my car and walk towards where he stands in front of the recalcitrant Parking Pay Machine.

“Did you try the other machine?” I ask.

He sighs. “Yeah. But it won’t even take a card. It’s completely out of order.”

“Oh.”

He puts his card in again. Takes it out. Steps aside. He turns towards where I stand, wallet in hand, credit card set to go. “Here you try it. Maybe if you use it you’ll reset it.”

I insert my card. Yes! The machine likes me.  It really likes me. It also likes my $20 to park for the day.

It spits out my receipt. I turn back to the man. “I feel like I’ve just won at a slot machine you got all warmed up!”

He laughs. Steps up to the machine. “Ok. Here goes.”

He puts his card in. The message flashes. “Card unreadable.”

He does it again. I give him full marks for persistence.

Steps back. Glances at his watch. Looks around as if to say, Ok Universe. Deliver me a miracle. Steps back to the machine for one more crack at the jackpot. No go.

“Here,” I say, taking my credit card out of my wallet again. “Let me pay.”

He looks at me, surprised. “What?”

“I’ll pay for yours. It obviously likes me.” And I smile.

“You’d do that for a stranger?”

“I’m sure you would too.”

I put my card in and the machine decides to play it cute. “Card not valid.”

Oh dear.

I try again.

Card not valid.

Third time lucky?

And it is. Suddenly, the machine likes me again. I pay for the man’s parking, he takes his ticket, thanks me effusively and we both go on to work out our day, our hearts lighter than when we first encountered each other at the Parking Pay Machine.

Last night, in my Living an Enlightened Life, we explored the question, “how would my life be different if I lived with the evolution of consciousness and culture as my first priority?”

It was a deep and meaningful conversation.

I’d be consciously taking action to bring the ideas of living from my authentic self, replied one of the participants on the call.

I’d live from that place that doesn’t ask, ‘what’s the payoff for me’ and instead operates intuitively from  the knowing of ‘what really matters’, said another.

I would be motivated by a sense of the deep significance I bring to the world, said one man. In that knowing, he would transcend ego and take responsibility for his cosmic significance knowing how important he really is in the world.

I listen to the responses and wonder, how would I be in the world if I lived with the evolution of consciousness and culture were my first priority?

I’d pay for someone else’s parking because it is an opportunity to be of service.

We are all connected.

And when our ripple sends out waves of generosity, goodness, kindness, we create ripples of generosity, goodness, kindness.

It is, The Ripple Effect. 

Creating a world of reciprocity in doing what we want to create more of in the world.

Creating a world of possibility where our focus on acting for the ‘greater good’ motivates our every expression of our shared humanity.

And just so you know, there was a moment where I wondered if I was being scammed. If maybe this guy did this all the time. But seriously? Is it worth it? To think ‘less than’ of my fellow human being?

I like the feeling of knowing I could make a difference in someone’s life simply by sliding my credit card into a machine and getting a ticket to spit out. In that act, I’m the winner. Because in that act, I let go of our separateness and move into that place where everything I do creates the kind of ripple I want to be in the world. And in that rippling place of our human condition shimmering in delight, miracles happen.

Namaste.

 

Forgiveness makes a difference

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23

In her Director’s Notes for the University of Calgary Drama Department’s production of The Love of the Nightingale, Alyssa Bradac writes that the use of violence to silence and control women in society over the centuries is unforgivable.

I disagree.

We must forgive if we are to stop it.

Now, before you leap on my words in protest, I don’t agree with violence. I am not saying what has happened is right. In fact, right and wrong cloud the truth of what is happening, right and wrong pushes the perpetrator into the darkness of shame, holding them in place through the very power and control they use to commit acts of violence.

If we carry the belief ‘it is unforgivable’, we limit our capacity to change it and stop it.

Forgiveness is not about excusing or accepting bad behaviour. It’s not about saying, ‘it’s okay that rape is used as a weapon of war’, that unspeakable acts are committed against women every day and there’s nothing we can do.

Like not being unforgivable, these acts of violence must not be relegated to ‘unspeakable’. They must be spoken about. Spoken of. Spoken aloud.

When we hold onto unforgiveness, or the belief that we can not speak of the horror of what happened, what happened holds onto us. It takes up residence in our minds and bodies, creating lasting wounds through the terror of our silence.

Silence is an act of violence when used to push down giving voice to what ails us. It becomes power and control in its ability to silence our speaking up about what has harmed us. It freezes us in the very acts that keep us from living free of the burdens of the past.

We must forgive what was to discover what can be when we break free.

Unforgiveness keeps us locked on the battlegrounds of ‘us and them’ . It keeps us separate, trapping one in shame and the other in the powerlessness of the victim state of being.

When the man who promised to love me ’til death do us part and then set about trying to put action to the death part was arrested, I knew, deep within my core, that to be free I had to forgive.

Forgiveness didn’t make what he did right, or acceptable, or justifiable. Forgiveness took the emotional charge out of what he had done and freed me to heal without carrying anger, pain, horror, revulsion. Forgiveness gave me the courage and strength to move into healing free of holding onto ‘what had happened’ to revel in the joy of my life free of ‘what had happened’.

Forgiveness set me free.

Whether it mattered to him or not, didn’t matter. What mattered to me was my choice to forgive. In that choice, I was freed of shame and blame. I was free.

I remember shortly after he was arrested wanting desperately for my daughters to forgive me for what I had done to hurt them. And yet, I told myself, I will never forgive myself for what I’d done to hurt them.

How could that be possible? To seek their forgiveness yet to hold myself in unforgiveness?

It wasn’t. To create space for their forgiveness, I needed to forgive myself. And in that act of choosing to forgive myself, I had to forgive my abuser to set myself free of the past. I had to soften my heart and become forgiving and forgiven. I had to believe I was worthy of forgiveness.

To stop abuse. To change the course of violence in our world, acts of violence cannot be unspeakable. They cannot be unforgivable. For in the ‘un’ state, they cast a long dark shadow that clouds our hearts and minds with memories of the very act we are attempting to let go of, to stop, to change.

Forgiveness is a powerful force.

In forgiveness, possibility of awakening to the essence of our humanity arises.

In forgiveness, our humanity awakens to the truth of our presence here on earth.

We are born to be brilliant. To shine. To create beauty, acts of grace, peace, love and joy.

We are born to Love one another as if of the same heart. For we are, of one heart — the heart of our humanity beating wildly in the rhythm of life.

 

The light of evensong makes a difference

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I walked beneath the light of the full moon, the air chilly against my skin. Ellie, the wonder pooch, pranced and danced beside me, her tail wagging enthusiastically as she sniffed for scent of gopher, squirrel maybe chipmunk beneath the snow covering the ground.

It was the in-between time. That hour just before darkness falls where dusk draws a silken veil across the sky and tinges the horizon in pink and rosy and golden hues. The time of Vespers, an ancient Catholic ritual of expressing gratitude in the twilight hours.

I walked and soaked in the air and view and quiet of the evensong drawing day to a close.

I walked and silently gave thanks for my day. A day of quiet. A day to work on a project for  my beloved (and I can’t tell you here because he reads here and telling you would spoil the surprise!). A day of sharing a meal with good friends and talking about the Essential Journey and how to translate ‘the knowing’ of our essential selves into service for the world.

“Louise,” my good friend Kerry Parsons sat across from me at lunch and as is her way, asked the questions of her heart. “You go out into the world and do your thing and do it singularly because, that’s what you do.” She glanced around at the other two members of our Essential Journey team. “That’s what we all do. But how do you, how do we, do it collaboratively? How do we enter into the spirit of co-creation and keep it as our collective vision?”

It was a good question. An important one.

How do I move from the ‘Me’ to embracing the ‘We’. How do I ignite possibility through collaborative energy versus singular drive?

I don’t know. I’m learning as I go. It’s evolutionary.

That’s the thing about the evolutionary process. It is constantly evolving. Continually unfolding and growing and emerging.

And I grow with it, emerge, become.

When I was a child I didn’t like team sports. Not because I wasn’t good at them, but rather, because I feared criticism. I feared letting others down. If I just say “I’m not a basketball player, volleyball player…” or whatever the sport was that required me to cooperatively engage in exercising with a collective, then no one will expect me to be part of the team. And in the release from that expectation, my expectations of not being wanted could be ignored.

I never had to challenge my belief — I am unwanted.

It also meant I took up singular sports and those where it was me against an opponent. Running. Skiing.  Racquetball. Tennis. Squash. I could be good at those because I never had to ask if I was wanted on the team, I just needed to turn up and be my best.

Except, being my best also came with mixed messages of childhood. “You think you’re so good.” You think you’re better than everyone else. Don’t get too smart for your britches. Nobody likes someone who always wins.

And so, I began to hide. My light. My drive. My brilliance. I began to hide behind the mediocrity of getting along, getting by, getting it done. Even though there were brief bursts of ‘wow! I can do that!’, I did my own thing — but never to the best of my abilities, always to the best of my belief it was vain and self-serving to shine.

I adapted.

It is the core message of the Essential Journey. We are born into this world with gifts and light and perfection shining. And then, we adapt.

We adapt to fit our family unit. Our circle of friends. Peer pressure, cultural biases, faith dictates, all impact our journey, moulding us into adaptive beings capable of living life and fitting into the norms of our society.

In the Essential Journey we learn to identify our adaptive beliefs and behaviours as we release the essence of the magnificence of our birthright. The brilliant, shining light of who we are born to be in this world of wonder.

The Essential Journey asks, “Who am I when I live up to my higher-self? What can we create through the collaborative energy of the highest expressions of our magnificence?”

Imagine what a world this would be. Imagine the difference we can make, imagine what we can inspire when we let go of living from our adapted selves and allow the full expression of our magnificence to unfold with grace and ease in a world of wonder.

Just imagine.

I walked in the light of evensong and felt gratitude, joy, Love and humility rise within me and all around.

I may not know how to operate in the collaborative but I do know how to allow the process to unfold. In its unfolding, I let go of making it happen to make room for miracles to happen, everywhere, because my life has been an evolutionary journey of Love. And in Love, I know, all things are possible. In Love, miracles happen.