Goosey Tales

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It was as if in the early hours of the morning the sun had cajoled the trees with its exhortations, “You can do it! You can do it!” And the leaves had whispered to the branches, “Leaf out! Leaf out!” And the branches had called to its roots, “Push! Push! Push! and suddenly, spring burst out in glorious, splendorous, luscious greenery.

Beau and I walked along the river in the early morning light savouring the sounds and sights, occassionally, he stepped to the water’s edge and grabbed a sip of cool mountain water and continued to run along the trail.

And then….

He spied a lone Canada Goose floating in the middle of the river.

With a leap and a bound, Beau splashed into the water and started madly paddling towards the goose.

The goose started madly honking and swimming in circles, flapping her wings as if to say, “Go Away!”

Which I think is exactly what I think she was saying!

Beau started paddling faster and trying to bark as he went and I stood on the banks calling at him to ‘Come back here!’

Beau finally heeded my calls and turned back towards shore.

The goose never quit honking, but she did quit flapping her wings when Beau turned around and came back to shore.

And thus ended the peace and tranquility of the morning.

And Beau’s only comment was…. “I think she was the goose on the deck! If she can invade my peace and my home, why can’t I disturb hers?”

What a dawg!

______________

Oh… and here’s what the trees looked like…

Spring Splendour

A Kiss Like No Other.

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There is something magical about walking along the river in the early evening of a warm Spring day.

Magical.

Mystical.

Mysterious.

Birds twitter in trees, the soft trill of some unknown (to me) species. The chattering of the chickadees mixing with the gossiping of squirrels. Ducks quacking from the middle of the river where they float lazily by while overhead, geese fly low, honking and calling out to one another.

Divine.

Delightful.

Delicious.

Leaves rustle on trees as if, released from the tightness of their buds, they have much to share about winter days gone by. Grasses turn green, eyeing one another as they whisper amongst themselves the secrets they’ve dug up from deep within their roots.

Luscious.

Luminous.

Light.

Fairy dancers spinning tales of magic on sun-dappled water. A fisherman casting his line out where he stands, thigh deep, in the running waters. A fish jumps just out of the water, splashes down as if to say to the erstwhile fisherman, “Catch me if you can!”.

Stories woven out of air, spun upon a gentle breeze catching a whiff of something exotic simmering on the fire where a family gathers to share time spent laughing and playing and eating by the river.

And I walk along the river’s edge and Beaumont chases the ball and stops to sniff some unknown scent and then he lets the ball fall into the water and he follows it with a splash into the river and I sit on the bank and watch and smile and listen and savour the pure delight of being alive in this moment right now.

This is spring in the city. My viewpoint focused to this moment in time where I sit and watch the world float by. No destination. No To Do list calling. No ‘have to’s’ waiting.

Just being. Here. Now.

This is all there is.

Love.

Joy.

Beauty.

Life.

______________________________

This post is in response to Eugi’s Weekly Prompt: Viewpoint

Your Weekly Prompt –Viewpoint – May 13, 2021.

Your Weekly Prompt –Viewpoint – May 13, 2021.

Go where the prompt leads you and publish a post on your own blog that responds to the prompt. It can be any variation of the prompt and/or image. Please keep it family friendly. This needs to be a safe and fun space for all. Prompts close 7 days from the close of my post.


Link your blog to mine with a pingback. To do a pingback: Copy the URL (the HTTPS:// address of my post) and paste it into your post. You may also place a copy of the URL of your post in the comments of the current week’s prompt.

Responses posted prior to the next Thursday prompt release can be included in the Roundup.

Let’s be creative and have fun!

-Eugi

https://amanpan.com/2021/05/13/eugis-weekly-prompt-viewpoint-may-13-2021/

A Most Glorious Adventure

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Click the Spotify link below to hear the short story in this post

or CLICK HERE to listen

final page and insert in the “Learning to Fly” art journal I’ve been working in.

I have been MIA from social media for a few days. Though, for me, ‘MIA isn’t – missing in action’. It refers to ‘Mesmerized in Art-making’.

I have been creating and, when I get so immersed I lose sight of the world around me, of all that is happening as I dive deep into creative exploration.

Yesterday, I completed the final pages of the Learning to Fly art journal I’ve been working on for the past few weeks.

This morning, I’ve come up for air, but not for long, I’ve an art show to get ready for in June and another project I’ve started to work on that has a deadline I can’t miss and a host of small tasks to complete.

Life is full and wonderful!

___________________________

About this artwork:

As I sat down to work on this page, I wrote out a little story that had popped into my mind and was calling to be released. It guided the page’s creation.

“Standing at the river’s edge she cast her dreams out into its rushing waters. And the river caught her dreams and carried them out to a distant sea where mermaids sang and dolphins leaped and stars were born in the skies above.

As she stood watching her dreams float away, she heard the mermaids’ sweet song and built a boat of wishes strung together with her hopes untied from her fears. Holding onto nothing but her desire to catch her dreams, she set sail to find the distant sea she’d always dreamt of.

And then, one day, while she was sailing to the murmur of the mermaids chanting, surrounded by leaping dolphins and falling stars cascading into the waters all around, she heard the calling of her wings unfolding.

Joyfully, she cast aside all her doubts and leapt into the unknown, light as air, radiant as a moonbeam.

And in that moment, she flew high and fell in love with her dreams soaring all around as life unfolded in the mystery and magic of her dreams coming true.

“What a most glorious adventure,” she called out to the sun and the moon and the stars and the sea. And the mermaids sang and the dolphins danced and stars shimmered in the depths above and below her.

And so… the story begins…

_________________________________

The story was freefall writing that simply appeared on the page, the consonants and vowels pouring out the tip of my pencil.

I felt immersed in the magic and mystery of dancing with the muse, untethered from the need to ‘get it right’, perfect, ‘just so’.

What a gift of nature!

___________________

My art table when I began in the morning…

The photos below are the final spreads from the journal –

Her Heartprints Live On Forever

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Written on the homepage of the Heartprints KIDS for a Cause website are the words:

♥  As we walk along in life, we leave footprints,
♥   As we touch, we leave fingerprints and handprints,
♥   As we touch hearts, we will leave heartprints.

Throughout her life, Bev Boyden touched many lives and left many heartprints. Yesterday, I received a message from her beautiful daughter, Tamara letting me know that sometime during the early morning hours of May 9th, Bev’s heart gave its last beat. Her heartprints remain. Indelible. Enduring. Forever imprinted on my heart and the heart of the many lives she impacted with her gentle manner, her soft voice, her loving heart and her giving nature.

I first met Bev in 2006 when she walked into my office at the adult emergency homeless shelter where I worked. She and her daughter, Tamara Van Staden, had called me a few days before to set up the appointment. Tamara, then 11-years-old, was doing a ‘Pay-It-Forward’ project in her Grade 5 Class and had heard about the artshow we were holding just before Christmas. Tamara wanted to sell her handmade jewelry at the show.

I don’t think I will ever forget the image of Tamara and her mom sitting behind their table, laughing and chatting together as they strung beads onto wires, or knit and crocheted the many items they made to raise funds for homeless shelters in Calgary. Over the years, Heartprints: KIDS for a Cause, the not-for-profit Tamara started when she was 12, has raised over $15,000 for homeless-serving agencies. One bead, one stitch, one heartbeat at a time.

And woven into every piece they created is the love and care Bev wove into her life and the life of her daughter.

Bev was an incredible mom. It was the thing she was most proud of in her life, she once told me. Being a mother to Tamara gave her joy, laughter, purpose. It sparked her creative juices, it made her want to be the best human being she could possibly be.

And she was. A beautiful, magnificent human being.

Over the years, Bev and I formed a friendship through our shared passion for making a difference in the world, especially our daughters’ worlds, and our desire to heal and grow and expand our understanding of ourselves and how we are in this world so that we could share the best of who we are with the world around us.

She did it well.

The sharing of herself. The caring. The loving. The creating. The being.

She poured it into Tamara. Her fur-babies. Her garden. Her friends. Her community. Her world.

No matter where she was, the world was, and will always be, a better place because of Bev.

Dearest Bev, your heart has stopped. Your heartprints live on. In my heart and the hearts of all those you touched with your kindness, grace and love.

There are so many ways I am grateful for you in my life. Our paths crossed by coincidence. They stayed connected through choice. One of the many things I so admired about you is how, when I told you about Choices, you put it on your bucket list and in 2015 you made it come true. I was in awe of your commitment and dedication to your personal growth so that you could be a better mother, friend, human being. Your willingness to trust me with your beautiful heart touched me deeply.

________________________

Yesterday, after receiving the news from Tamara, I asked how I could support her. She asked me to write something for her mother.

I said down and wrote the following letter. And though I can’t deliver it in person, I believe Bev can read it, feel it, sense it.

Dear friend, I am struggling for words to tell you how much I appreciated you in my life and what a difference you made in my heart.

And, as I read back through our messages, I am reminded of what a difference you made in our community. Like the time you convinced your Charity Committee at work to take on fulfilling the needs of CWES that also included the Women’s Centre because you accidentally phoned them (thinking you were calling CWES) to ask for their needs list.

I loved how you were so excited to be able to deliver what both organizations needed. You thought your mistake was the best thing ever because you were helping even more women. As you wrote in your message telling me about the event, “…after hearing what they were in desperate need of (shampoo/ conditioner, lotion and baby care items), I could not ignore that calling! So the CWES got all their pillows replaced and will get all the other items requested … 3 baby monitors, shampoo, conditioner, lotion, baby care items. The Women’s Centre will receive all the items they said they were in desperate need of. Feeling very satisfied as it was over a year ago that I presented the idea to our firm Charity Committee to do a fundraiser to collect items for personal care and to accomplish that around Valentine’s Day.”

That’s who you were Bev. Determined. Committed. Always there to help out. Always willing to do what ever was needed to make a difference. To do one thing every day to make the world a better place.

I will miss you my friend. I will miss our lunches, though this past year they were impossible to have. I will miss your lovely gratitude messages on FB and your commitment to keeping your Choices FB page full of inspiring messages and most of all, I will miss learning more of your journey as you fulfilled on your big bucket list item this year by stepping out of your comfort zone to seek new, exciting opportunities for employment. I was so excited that you were off on another adventure.

Much love, hugs and beans as you journey to the other side and beyond,

Louise

__________________________________

In 2013, Bev wrote a guest blog HERE on de-cluttering. It is a lovely view into her heart. I am so grateful to have memories of Bev to carry with me always.

The “Get Out Of Control” Guru (an SWB post)

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Beaumont: So…. I suppose I should wish you Happy Mother’s Day.

Me: That’s lovely Beau. Thank you.

Beau: You know, you’re really the only mother I’ve ever known Louise. I don’t remember my birth mother. She gave me up so young.

Me: She had no choice Beau.

Beau: But aren’t you the one who says we always have a choice.

Me: Yes. But the choice isn’t necessarily about what’s happening in your life, it’s about what you do with what’s happening. And for your birth mom. she had zero choice about giving you up. She could only choose how she adapted to that reality.

Beau: Do you think she’s ok?

Me: I’m pretty sure she is Beau. Remember how we met one of your younger sisters at the park awhile ago? She’d only been apart from your mom for a few months and her hooman mom said Maya, your birth mom, was doing really well.

Beau: Oh right. I remember. But what about me? What if I’d wanted to choose to stay with my birth mom?

Me: Well… we hoomans don’t give you dawgs much choice in those matters Beau. We kind of dictate what’s going on.

Beau: Hmmm… well… does that seem right to you?

Me: Oh my. That’s a pretty tricky question Beau. See, we hoomans need you, probably more than you need us so, to ensure our needs are met, we make sure we have control.

Beau: Hoomans are weird Louise. Why can’t you just share it?

Me: Control? Well… then it wouldn’t be control would it? And believe me, hoomans do like their control.

Beau: (smiling innocently) Sort of like how you don’t want me to go in the river and think you can keep me out?

Me: (laughing – sort of) Yeah. Like that.

Beau: (more innocent, head caulked sideways smiling) Is control good for you Louise?

Me: Hmmm… Well, I can tell you this much. Being in control may not always be the best thing but not having it sure can make me feel very unhappy!

Beau: Then consider me your “Get Out Of Control Guru”.

Me: What’s that supposed to mean?

Beau: Well… Being in control isn’t good for you…

Me: I said it’s not always the best thing….

Beau: Semantics. The fact is, being in control is not good for you so, I have made it my mission in life to help you break your control freak habits.

Me: Seriously? You think that’s your role?

Beau: Isn’t that the role of every child Louise? To help their mother loosen her habit of being controlling?

Me: Oh. You might have a point.

Beau: Of course I do. Anyway, next time you tell me not to go in the river and I choose to ignore you and go in anyway and drop my ball so you have to come in after me, think of it as a gift.

Me: A gift?

Beau: Yeah. A gift that is helping you stretch your ‘letting go of control’ muscles.

Me: Oh my. Such an…. ummm… interesting perspective of your disobedience Beau.

Beau: It’s not disobedience Louise. It’s me, practicing the second role of the child – Give your parents lots of opportunity to find the value in all things. And the value in your having to get in the river with me is you get to have fun too!

Me: Stepping in ice cold water is supposed to be fun?

Beau: If you change your glasses, or at least your attitude you will see it is Louise.

Me: Am I supposed to say thank you?

Beau: Not today Louise. It’s Mother’s Day. You get the day off.

Me: Does that mean I can go back to bed?

Beau: Only if you can beat me to it. And you know that’s not happening. I’ve got four paws to your two feet.

Me: But aren’t you supposed to be extra-nice to me on Mother’s Day?

Beau: I am. I’m letting you have control of the keyboard to type this.

Me: But you let me do that every Sunday Beau.

Beau: I know. Aren’t I wonderful! You get to feel like every Sunday is Mother’s Day!

Me: (sighing) Of course. Silly me for not seeing that.

Beau: Hey! I’m the gift that just keeps on giving!

Me: You’re out of control Beau. You know that, right?

Beau: Nah. I’m just a gifted “Get Out Of Control Guru”. Remember?

Me: How could I forget?

Beau: It’s best you don’t. So… you finish up here and I’ll see you later. I’m going back to bed. Oh. And don’t forget to sign off with my wishing all the mother’s out there, no matter how the gift of being a mother to a child unfolded in their life, Happy Mother’s Day!

Me: Yes Beau.

Beau: Good girl. Now that’s obedience.

Me: You’re pushing it.

Beau: Role No. 3 of the child. Push your mother’s buttons whenever possible…. Oh. and don’t forget to wish my birthmom Maya a Happy Mother’s Day too. Without here, you wouldn’t have the gift of me in your life!

And so it goes… Beau always finds the ‘truth’ in everything. And he definitely knows how to push my buttons!

Beau: Hey… Just doing my job, Louise. Just doin’ my job!

Sigh…. And so it goes. Beau goes back to bed and he and C.C. leave no room for me …

Regardless… Beau is right. No matter how you came to call yourself a mother, Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers out there! And Maya… Thank you for the gift of Beau in our lives. You would be proud of your son. He’s the best.

Beau: You mean Best Top Dawg. Right?

Me: I thought you went back to bed.

Beau: I did. But… seeing as it’s Mother’s Day, I thought I’d move over and make a little room for you.

Me: How… kind.

Beau: Here’s where you get to make a choice Louise. Say thank you and come back to bed or… play martyr. Your choice. Your Mother’s Day.

Sigh (again). And so I do. Say thank you and squeeze into the tiny space he’s left me on the bed. It is Mother’s Day after all!

____________________

As it’s Mother’s Day, no need to ‘click’ to go to Beau’s blog – Sunday’s with Beaumont! 🙂

The Choice.

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The Choice — mixed media page — Learning to Fly art journal

Yesterday, I took a risk.

I’m glad I did.

The affirmation, confirmation and support I received filled my heart with gratitude and joy. I felt alive.

Which got me wondering… Do I take enough risks?

Oh, not the jump out of an airplane or ski down virgin terrain on a steep backcountry mountain kind of risk but the emotional, spiritual, deeply personal risk of vulnerability.

Sadly, I think the answer may be… not often enough.

Which is why I write here.

To teach myself to live life wide open. My heart unlocked. My psyche unsheathed. My entire being unarmoured-up.

To stretch my vulnerability muscles, to expand my willingness to be real, authentic, known. To increase my capacity to live outside my comfort zone – I must choose vulnerability.

‘Cause in many instances, that’s what living ‘sheltered’ behind our protective walls and habitual nature of hiding our ‘true nature’ is – A fear response to dangers unknown about which we are constantly negative fortune-telling in order to protect ourselves from hurts we experienced in the past and fear will happen again.

It is such a convoluted story we tell ourselves about what could happen. And because we don’t want it to happen, we tell ourselves we have to armour-up when in reality, disposing of our armour and allowing ourselves to be wholly present and vulnerable is what keeps us safe.

I remember when, after being released from a relationship that was killing me, I received a call one morning telling me that the man who wanted me gone had escaped from jail. “We don’t know where he is,” the detective told me on the phone, “but we figure he’s probably going to try to find you.”

In one instant all my hard won peace of mind evaporated and I was catapulted into a raging storm of fear engulfing every cell of my being. I remember taking Ellie, my Golden Retriever who had gone through much of that journey with me and been my ballast and comfort for so much of it, for a walk in the forest where we had walked every day since his arrest.

Suddenly, every rustle of leaf, every crack of twig, every shadow was ‘him’ waiting to leap out of the bushes and drag me back into the past.

I remember standing amidst the towering pines and crying, trying to force myself to keep walking further along the path. I couldn’t do it. I turned and ran back to my apartment, slamming the door shut and lying on my bed sobbing.

And then… it struck me.

He had absolutely no idea where I was and had no way of finding out. We had had zero contact since his arrest months before.

While he was a danger, he was not a real and present danger. It was my thoughts playing havoc with reality.

I had a choice. Live behind locked doors or go out into the sunshine. I unlocked the door and Ellie and I went for our walk.

Sure, there were niggles of fear wafting around me but I chose to risk facing them rather than armour-up against them.

It has been a constant learning in my life. To un-armour myself when my mind is screaming at me to raise the drawbridge, man the ramparts and take cover.

And the only way I know to do that is to face what I fear and risk — being vulnerable, real, authentic — and… to love myself, all of me, warts and wisdom, darkness and light, beauty and the beast.

And so… I write it out.

What about you? Are you willing to take a risk today?

What if… It ain’t happening ‘to’ you but FOR you?

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“Nature is full of natural balance that it shares freely. To find your balance, spend time in nature.” Learning to Fly art journal spread. Mixed media on scrap paper

“Find value in all things.”

In this case, the opportunity (and challenge) was to use the page I tore out of my art journal the day before, (because I didn’t like it) in a way that brought beauty and meaning to a new spread in a way that pleased me.

Along with moving me beyond the ‘3C’s’ of negativity, it’s a self-imposed, ‘reuse, recycle, reduce’ way of art-making.

Like the boxes and drawers and bins in my studio filled with scraps of paper and ephemera – As a mixed media artist everything has possibility. From the junk mail flyer to a receipt to the strip torn off a page of newsprint I’ve painted to the frayed ribbon wrapped around a bottle of Balsamic Vinegar I got as a gift from friends – there is creative potential in it all.

Like us. From the frayed and tattered dreams we carry tucked away in a deep corner of our hearts to the wounds and scars we cover up with layers of smiles and idle chatter or misdirected anger, to the wonder and awe that seeps out through our tears in the most unpredictable and untimely moments – there is creative potential for new life in it all.

What will you do with the forgotten pieces? The hidden gems of your soul?

Yesterday, as I walked with Beaumont through the woods and sat on a rock at the river’s edge and watched the sun fairies dance on the water and the rocks shimmer with the light caressing them where they lay on the river’s bed, I thought about my ‘mistake’ from the day before. “What do you have to teach me?” I asked the sky and the air, the trees and the river flowing steadily past.

“You will never know until you look beyond ‘the mistake’ to see its infinite possibilities,” whispered the wind and the trees, the sky and the air and the river.

When I got home, I stepped into my studio, picked up ‘my mistake’ and let its possibilities become my guide.

I stepped away from expectation and my querulous asking of, “Why did I mess it up?” to shift into that place where instead of thinking, “Why did this happen to me?” I stayed open to the possibility it was happening for me.

That’s when wonderment and awe seeped onto the page.

It was a great lesson for life. Step away from keeping myself mired in the victim’s place of thinking ‘bad stuff’ happens ‘to’ me to sink deeply into wonderment of its true value by asking myself, ‘What does this happening have to teach me? What gem will it hold that will enrich my way of being present in my life?”

I hope you try it. The next time something happens that feels heavy and ‘wrong’ or you feel you’ve made a mistake… I hope you try stepping away from the ‘why is this happening ‘to’ me’ to “What does this happening have ‘for’ me?”

I hope when you do that doors of possibility fly open and you are flooded with the delightful awareness that you are not a victim of circumstances. You are an instrument of life full of limitless possibilities!

And when stuck. Go spend time in nature. Nature always offers up a myriad of opportunities to see beyond ‘the yuck’ into the value of all things. Including your pain and woes, trials and sorrow, missteps and mistakes.

And in that space, miracles abound, magic expands and the unfathomable mysteries of your life unfold in wonder and awe.

.

Where The Wild Things Grow

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When I was a little girl I loved to create. Anything and everything.

Stories. Paper dolls. Houses for all my paper dolls. Clothes for my dolls. I loved, Paint by numbers. Drawing. Painting. Card tricks. Building things. Exploring things. Creating things.

I was creative by nature.

Up until my teens, I loved to draw. Faces mostly. I created my own magazines. Books. Plays.

And then. The 3 C’s hit.

Comparison. Criticism. Confusion.

I was not as good as… the really talented kids in school who everyone said would grow up to be artists. I never showed anyone my work so no one knew I loved to paint and draw. I was pretty sure my family would make fun of me anyway, so I quit painting and drawing.

I couldn’t sing like the one’s who played guitar in the band I belonged to. My brother made sure I knew I wasn’t very good. So I quit the band.

I didn’t get the lead in a school play (I did get a major role but it didn’t matter. I was pretty sure my family wouldn’t come to see me anyway, and if they did, they’d make fun of me). I quit auditioning.

Don’t get me wrong. There were creative things I did my mother and father found acceptable. I was the best gift wrapper in the house and would spend hours wrapping all the Christmas gifts. I did make all the posters for my eldest sister’s run for School Queen (or whatever it was she was running for) complete with pithy quotes – Beatniks were a big thing back then and I remember painting a picture of a Beatnik on poster board with some ‘clever’ saying like, “Get with the beat! Vote_______!”

But the list of things I told myself I couldn’t do as well as… (fill in the blanks ____________) went on and on.

I didn’t sew as well as my eldest sister. I didn’t write poetry as poetically as my middle sister. And I couldn’t be a boy like my brother, which was pretty well all believed my parents wanted me to be.

My inner critic, who constantly compared me to the feats and abilities of others, confused me. I didn’t dare tell people the things I loved to do. I was so scared they’d find my efforts wanting, less than, not as good as… someone else’s.

In my twenties, I secretly took up writing poetry again. I painted, but never told anyone. I started a novel and kept it to myself.

In my thirties, amidst my friends, I was known as the one who cooked and created, who skied fast and ran faster. I had a cooking show on TV. Nothing big. Just a 10 minute segment of an ‘about town’ show, but I loved it. I catered parties for friends. A girlfriend and I started a cooking school. My dinners for backcountry hiking and ski trips were legendary.

At 35, I published my first feature length story in a Sunday magazine. I wrote a novel and sent it out. Once. And then I let it sit and gather dust.

In my 40s I wrote a screen play that was optioned. A novel I never sent out and was published many more times in magazines and radio. And still, the 3C’s slithered through my psyche telling me to stop.

And then, at 45, I picked up a paintbrush and fell in love with painting.

Recently, I read a woman’s account of her creative journey through life and decided it was a great opportunity to get clear on my own.

See, when I write it out chronologically, what really becomes clear is the fact that ‘being a creative’ is part of my DNA. Ultimately, it isn’t about the things I’ve done or created or what others thought of what I did or created. Just as it was never about my talent.

It was always about my lack of belief in myself, my voice, my message.

Yesterday, as I created another page in my “Learning to Fly” art journal, I did something I’ve never done before. I ripped out a page.

The ripped out page — the gift is, I can still create with it by collaging it into another page and letting its wildness speak out!

Now, my excuse is, I’d been working on the opposite page for several hours. It was a total experiment. layer upon layers of gel medium and alcohol inks and markers and acrylic paint and more gel medium and inks and markers and paint. By the time I sat back and said, “This pleases me,” I was tired and not really listening to my heart.

Which means, I wasn’t present. Not being present meant I was susceptible to heeding the critics whining insistence I get the facing page done and over with. When it got to the stage of “UGH!” I totally forgot I get to that stage in pretty well everything I paint. So when the 3C’s invaded and the critter hissed, “Tear it out!” I did.

And that’s the moral of this story. Being present is a constant breathing into and with your entire being. It’s about sinking deep into your creative essence and connecting to your heart, the wild places within you and the world all around you so that the wild things can grow and flourish and flow.

Yesterday, I was reminded how easy it is to forget to breathe into the wild places and set them free. To cherish and nurture my creative expression and to not judge it, or myself, wanting.

I am grateful. It was a wild and fierce awakening. A powerful reminder to let the wild things grow, especially my dreams.

Namaste

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Art Journal Entry, August 26, 2014

In a burst of exuberance, the wind swept down from the mountains 
whispering stories of faraway places.

“Runaway with me and I will show you the world!” the wind called out.

And Coyote laughed. “Here is where I run free,” he told the wind.

And the wind blew on and Coyote ran free.

https://dareboldly.com/2014/08/27/a-gift-from-the-quiet-hours-before-the-dawn

There was a time when she believed if she could just be somewhere else other than where she was, everything would be okay.

There was a time when she wished for nothing more than to be someone else other than who she was.

What she couldn’t see in looking for another way of being is that no matter what she wished for, she could never be anyone else other than who she was.

What she couldn’t see was that the parts of her that didn’t fit her well in this place, would not fit her any better in another.

Fearful that she would never find her way, she attempted to jettison her past, extricate herself from being herself to become someone she thought others wanted her to be. “Perhaps if you change directions, or even just your clothes, you’ll find yourself another way,” her nimble mind whispered like the wind blowing down from the mountains, calling her to run away.

And she ran, and ran and still she found herself where ever she was at, trying to run away from the one she could never leave behind, herself.

“Perhaps if you simply stand true to who you are, stay present to what is here in this moment, you’ll find yourself right where you’re at,” her loving heart whispered into the howling of the wind.

Frightened by her heart’s calling and tired of constantly running away, she fell to the ground and rested right where she was at. And in her sleep, her heart beat strong, and her mind grew restful as the truth of who she is set her free to run wild like the wind through her dreams.

“There is nothing to fear in being you,” her heart whispered. “Who you are is who you’ve always been. Perfectly human in all your human imperfections. Beauty and the beast. Loving and loved. A child of the universe, seeking her way into the light of her own brilliance shining brightly on the path of her creation.”

Like coyote and the wind, there is always a calling to venture into another space, some distant place where what is here will not be there. It isn’t until we quit searching for somewhere else to be that we discover, everything we need to be free is here right now, because, no matter where we go, we are where ever we go.

__________________________

This piece originally appeared on my blog August 27, 2014. There is more to it if you want to read the rest — CLICK HERE

My original plan was not to write about body image this morning. But, a facetime call with my eldest daughter this morning where I shared part of a conversation I had yesterday with a beautiful friend who dropped to pick something up redirected my thinking.

My friend and I were talking about body image (why do I feel compelled to ensure you know we did it ‘safely’?) I was telling my friend how I had found some photos of me with my eldest daughter when she was born and I mentioned how I was surprised to see I wasn’t ‘fat’!

“Why did I always think I was fat?” I asked my friend. Now let me caveat that statement — I am not fond of that word ‘fat’. It is not a loving way to describe or to view myself but, honesty and speaking truth is vital to change. I can’t think of a time in my life when I didn’t think I was fat.

Now, I should also mention that much of my life I always thought of myself as very fit — which I was — but it didn’t matter how much I ran or swam or skied or climbed or worked out — I always thought I was fat!

My social and psychological conditioning as well as media representations of ‘beauty’ have instilled some really dysfunctional ideas around body image that I continue to work on unravelling — it is a huge challenge. These ideas and attitudes are deeply embedded in my psyche.

My friend replied that she too shares the same issues. She is a good 8 inches taller than me and has always been beautiful in my eyes. In her own, not so much.

It is said that “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder”.

When we look in the mirror, we are beholding ourselves.

How beautiful do you see yourself?

Do you see your natural beauty or do you compare yourself to some media instilled measurement of beauty and find yourself less than, other than, an artificial construct of beauty?

Twiggy was the standard-bearer of my age, I told my daughter this morning. She defined beauty when I was in my teens.

Kate Moss was mine, she replied.

We are both under 5’3″ tall. Supermodel status was never in our genes. Yet, through the power of media and peer pressure and social conditioning, (and air-brushing) we, like millions of our peers, wanted desperately to emulate a way of ‘looking’ that was/is unachievable.

And there’s the catch. ‘Looking’ like someone else’s definition of beauty is not sustainable nor loving.

Being who I am, being myself as I am and loving myself from the inside out without judging how I ‘look’ and finding myself wanting – that’s the measurement of success and beauty I want to live by.

What about you?

Who/what defines beauty for you?

Do you love yourself completely, just the way you are?

It’s a tall order. To love yourself completely, just the way you are. I’m still working on it.

Namaste

Goose in a Flower Pot

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I am sitting at my desk writing when I hear a loud thud. Startled I look up and discover two Canada Geese have landed on our deck railing and are climbing into one of the flower pots.

Are they thinking of using one of them as a nest, I wonder? I use them for herbs during the summer and while I had cleared them out last fall, there are lots of fallen leaves and debris still in the dirt.

Earlier, when I’d stepped outside with Beaumont the Sheepadoodle the view was limited. Misty air encompassed the world around me, rising off the river like a ghost slipping through the hallway of a haunted house leaving ethereal wisps of memory of its life gone by in its passing.

Beaumont the Sheepadoodle, oblivious to the mystical nature of the morning, padded along the grass looking for just the right spot to make his presence known.

I stood in awe.

I love foggy mornings.

Especially when they include two Canada Geese landing on our upper deck railing and taking up temporary (I think) residence. At this point, as I type, they have been standing and sitting and navigating the limited space of the pots for about an hour and a half. Which means, it has taken me that long to write this post as I have been intermittently typing and watching and taking photos and waiting and hoping to catch them lifting off.

At one point, I opened the deck door to try to get a better photo. One of them hissed at me so I quickly retreated.

Geese, I have concluded, are masters of mindfulness. They can sit and stand in stillness for long periods of time. They out-wait me.

I’m good with that. Add them to the robins who are busily building multiple nests in the beams above our lower deck and I feel surrounded by an aviary of wild things.

Mystical, magical nature unfolding its wings.

And through it all, Beau ignores the geese and instead, lays at my feet looking out the window directly towards the river. He is keeping watch over the the bird feeder along our back fence. To no avail. The squirrel has once again completed a successful raid of its seed.

The chickadees hop on the ground pecking at the droppings.

The fog has lifted.

The day has begun.

And the geese still out-wait me.

Until finally….. I wake C.C. up to come and help me get the goose to fly away — He took the string of bells hanging from the front doorknob and started ringing them. The goose was undeterred until C.C. stepped out onto the deck…

Fact is, while I think it’s lovely they came to visit, we would like to use our deck this spring and summer. Plus… I really do want to plant my herbs! I know… it’s all about me. 🙂

Update…. The goose came back… I think she likes it here!

David Kanigan! This one’s for you! To read a beautiful, poignant story about a goose and its eggs, visit – Walking. It Ain’t Disney on the Sabbath.