Autumn leaves and teal blue dresses
Babies two and great big messes
Music, dishes, conversation
Laughter, kisses, indignation
Stress & struggle, sweet relief
Loyal arms to comfort grief
Love and mischief, family, friends
Building memories never ends
Camping, swimming, roller-blading
24 (and still not fading)
Years together Wowie Zowie
Happy Happy Nancy Howie
Monday, October 5, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
On Collecting Burdens
All the wisdom this week points to burdens.
Don't collect them.
Don't go looking for them.
Don't even give them the time of day.
Enough will accumulate without your help and attention.
Deal with those swiftly and without grudge.
Get back to joy as soon as you are able.
Be vigilant in this regard.
Your over all wellness depends upon it.
Don't collect them.
Don't go looking for them.
Don't even give them the time of day.
Enough will accumulate without your help and attention.
Deal with those swiftly and without grudge.
Get back to joy as soon as you are able.
Be vigilant in this regard.
Your over all wellness depends upon it.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
In Praise of Optimism
I'm all for it - radical, raging, relentless, optimism!
It's the new fashion in my closet.
I recommend its easy flow and attractive colors
Go ahead; try it on.
It's the new fashion in my closet.
I recommend its easy flow and attractive colors
Go ahead; try it on.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
After the Millwood Party
Dance, dance, dance. Sing with gusto.
Drink in the night sky and laugh at yourself.
Look people in the eye and hear what they are saying.
They want to be known, as do you.
Exchange ideas, share compassion.
Do these things because you can.
You are still alive, so while you can, experience your life.
You have nothing to lose.
Drink in the night sky and laugh at yourself.
Look people in the eye and hear what they are saying.
They want to be known, as do you.
Exchange ideas, share compassion.
Do these things because you can.
You are still alive, so while you can, experience your life.
You have nothing to lose.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Where have I been?
So much has happened since my last entry.
I have found writing a challenge in the face of life and death.
The passing of three beautiful children to whom I was distantly
but lovingly connected.
It has given so much pause.
I have not been in mourning exactly, but in suspension,
as I negotiate the waters of perplexity.
I, am
They, are
We together, express it all.
"Dead" or "alive", we are all that is and all that is, is us.
I have found writing a challenge in the face of life and death.
The passing of three beautiful children to whom I was distantly
but lovingly connected.
It has given so much pause.
I have not been in mourning exactly, but in suspension,
as I negotiate the waters of perplexity.
I, am
They, are
We together, express it all.
"Dead" or "alive", we are all that is and all that is, is us.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
A Shoulder and a Trounsin’
I wrote this almost two months ago, coincidentally on the day after my friends lost their children in a fire. At the time of finishing these thoughts I was moments away from learning of the tragedy. I have only felt like posting it as of today.
July 24,2009: Woke early this morning and let some memories flow.
Yesterday, I had a big day of work planned. I had decided to teach myself how to use my wonderful hand held recording device to record demos. I was looking forward to the task which I expected would be challenging and I was proud of myself for taking it on. Just as I had settled into my room, with the instruction booklet in my hand, Eliza came bouncing in with a big morning smile and slightly sleepy eyes, flopped down on my bed and declared. “I want to hang out with you today. I don’t want to spend the whole day under the head phones at the computer”.
I have to say I was sort of taken aback. Don’t get me wrong, I was thrilled. I don’t know many teenagers who would make such a request of their mothers and I don’t know many mothers who would have the time to spontaneously honor such a request. But there we were, two unusual specimens, her staring at me, me staring at her, curious about how this would change my day.
After much deliberation and showers and breakfast, it was decided that we should spend the day reading Harry Potter, or rather Eliza and Hannah (who had appeared somewhere in the mix) would read the first Harry Potter book to me as I had never read any of the series before. They were both wildly enthusiastic and despite my fear that I would not be able to match their joy, we forged ahead.
As it turns out I was immediately hooked and we spent several hours reading, interrupted only thrice by a quick dash to Tim Horton’s for Ice Caps (an atypical dose of caffeine for me which did, in the end, help me to stay awake through several more chapters), a slightly longer jaunt to pick up Jamie from work and a three hour hiatus in which Hannah went to work at a street festival in The Beaches and the rest of us watched the one hundredth episode of “So You Think You Can Dance”
The final read took place just before bed and although my eyelids were heavy I couldn’t help smiling as I fell asleep, reflecting on Hannah’s comment as she left my room, “ I’d rather read all day with you guys than go on the computer."
When I woke up this morning still slightly lost in the previous days imaginative world I began to think about parenting and what makes a good parent. I realized that I had been able, because of my present circumstances, to have great parenting moment yesterday. I was able to pay attention to what I was hearing my children say and I was able to go with the wonderful flow of changing my plans to spend time with them. As my sleepy thoughts flowed into one another, I began to think of my own parents who had raised twice as many children as I have and who still managed to provide so many “good parent” memories for me.
When I was a girl, we went to church every Sunday and by the time I was eight years old, I was expected, along with others my age and older, to stay in the sanctuary for the whole service and not go down to Sunday school with the younger children. This was a challenge for me. My mom and dad both sang in the choir and therefore sat perched in the loft at the front of the church behind the pulpit, my sister was still young enough to go out to Sunday School after the children’s story and my older brothers wouldn’t have been caught dead sitting next to me. Some weeks I sat with my friend Karen but often I sat "alone" between some kindly adults.
I am sort of a restless creature by nature and Sunday morning church services did little to remedy that trait. I was always bored, and even, I daresay, a little cynical about some of the things I was hearing from the "powers that were". Once in a while, if we felt like we could get away with it, Karen and I would play hang-man on the church bulletin but often I would just squirm in my seat thinking about lunch and trying not to let my stomach growl during the pastoral prayer.
I did love to sing however and one song was always my favourite; the closing hymn, followed by the benediction. During this hymn my little heart would start to pound as I counted the minutes to freedom. I was so excited about getting out of that building and heading home for lunch with my family. I would sing at the top of my lungs and watch the choir do the same. My mom would often catch my eye and smile.
As the song ended and we stood still for the benediction I could barely contain myself and the moment the minister had spoken his final word, I would wriggle past the other people in the pew, head straight to the front of the church and wait at the foot of the stairs leading up to the choir loft as the members draped in vibrant robes, filed passed me one by one. I‘d stand in impatient anticipation of meeting my mom and when she appeared, it was always the same; she’d reach out her winged arm, wrap me up the in the maroon colored fabric and say, “Hello sweetie pie” or “Hiya darling. Then, then stuck together at the hip, we would follow the woman in front of us out the door into the back hall and squeeze our way down the narrow, winding staircase which led to the choir room, chatting all the way about about this and that. I remember loving the feeling that other people were noticing our closeness.
On very rare occasions, if there was a visiting musical group or if my my mom had, for some reason, missed choir practice the Thursday night prior, she would sit with me in the congregation during the Sunday service. I loved sitting beside her and knowing that she was grown up and strong and that she would always be there for me. And during those long, boring sermons I would lay my head down on my mom’ shoulder and feel as safe and as loved as anyone could feel. She would reach over to my lap and tap my hand and even then I knew that I had been given a gift that not every child had, a mother who loved me and didn’t mind me needing her affection.
Our family life was busy and full in those years and moments went by in at a furious pace but those connections I had with my mom on Sunday mornings were a kind of reassurance that I mattered to her and therefore, I mattered.
My dad and I had our special connections as well. I was often the one who'd stay awake late while the others slept on long late night car rides traveling here or there. I would hang my head over the front seat and talk quietly to my dad or just watch the road with him in silence. When I was really young and learning to talk on the phone he would sometimes call from work. If was the one to answer he would always say, "Is that my sweet voice on the telephone?"
As I got older I was the only one of the kids who loved getting up early, so I would often have dad all to my self over a toast and tea breakfast. We were the same kind of person in some ways. We both liked a good idea and as I started to wrestle with the big questions of life , he was never concerned. He always had a way of making me feel like he knew I would figure things out. His liberal views allowed me to wander around some unconventional topics and he even got excited about sharing things he'd learned in his ever expanding quest for knowledge.But the thing I recalled this morning as I reflected on "good" parenting, was an activity that I shared with my dad and my siblings. I have no idea when it started, it was just always apart of my life and it was called a "trounsin'."
Many evenings, after dinner, from the time I was a toddler till I was about eight or nine I suppose, my dad would lie down on the living room floor and the four of us would scamper around him in a circle, squealing away and pretending that we did not want to be caught. Of course we did want to be caught and we were and when we were, we were “trounced”.
Now a trounsin' was a combination of tickling,wrestling, flips, and of course airplane rides on my dad’s feet. He would lift his legs off the floor bend his knees, grab our hands, push his feet into our tummies and lift us into the air. It was such a blast, especially falling to the ground in a heap of laughter. Sometimes we’d face away from him and he would use his feet like a chair to lift us off the ground by our bottoms. There we were suspended in air, feigning terror, as our arms and legs dangled, and never wanting it to end. Inevitably one of the other kids pushed us off or we'd lose our balance and down we'd go. Still other times my dad would grab us playfully drape our tummies over his bent shins and pump his legs up and down and we'd giggle uncontrollably till we were finally released.
The whole thing was a free for all of crazy energy. I suppose it started when my brothers were little, in order to give my mom time to wash the dishes in peace or something ( I seem to remember her being suspiciously absent during the trouncing hour) but it ended up being an event we looked forward to as often as my dad was willing.
He probably didn’t know what it meant to me to have that time with him. I don’t know about my siblings but I felt so loved and special. As far as I knew nobody else in the world was getting a trounsin’, and even if that wasn't true I know that my dad and his willingness to play with us after a long day of working, was a rare thing and a wonderful gift. I also know that his way of being silly with us helped us feel OK with being kids and being silly ourselves.
I have been blessed with “good” parents. They are good people, good role models and both of them showed me how to be good and decent too. The smallest of moments in the big picture of life create lasting impressions. Liza and Hannah are awake now and I am looking forward to another day of Harry Potter. Maybe someday this will be a good memory for them.
July 24,2009: Woke early this morning and let some memories flow.
Yesterday, I had a big day of work planned. I had decided to teach myself how to use my wonderful hand held recording device to record demos. I was looking forward to the task which I expected would be challenging and I was proud of myself for taking it on. Just as I had settled into my room, with the instruction booklet in my hand, Eliza came bouncing in with a big morning smile and slightly sleepy eyes, flopped down on my bed and declared. “I want to hang out with you today. I don’t want to spend the whole day under the head phones at the computer”.
I have to say I was sort of taken aback. Don’t get me wrong, I was thrilled. I don’t know many teenagers who would make such a request of their mothers and I don’t know many mothers who would have the time to spontaneously honor such a request. But there we were, two unusual specimens, her staring at me, me staring at her, curious about how this would change my day.
After much deliberation and showers and breakfast, it was decided that we should spend the day reading Harry Potter, or rather Eliza and Hannah (who had appeared somewhere in the mix) would read the first Harry Potter book to me as I had never read any of the series before. They were both wildly enthusiastic and despite my fear that I would not be able to match their joy, we forged ahead.
As it turns out I was immediately hooked and we spent several hours reading, interrupted only thrice by a quick dash to Tim Horton’s for Ice Caps (an atypical dose of caffeine for me which did, in the end, help me to stay awake through several more chapters), a slightly longer jaunt to pick up Jamie from work and a three hour hiatus in which Hannah went to work at a street festival in The Beaches and the rest of us watched the one hundredth episode of “So You Think You Can Dance”
The final read took place just before bed and although my eyelids were heavy I couldn’t help smiling as I fell asleep, reflecting on Hannah’s comment as she left my room, “ I’d rather read all day with you guys than go on the computer."
When I woke up this morning still slightly lost in the previous days imaginative world I began to think about parenting and what makes a good parent. I realized that I had been able, because of my present circumstances, to have great parenting moment yesterday. I was able to pay attention to what I was hearing my children say and I was able to go with the wonderful flow of changing my plans to spend time with them. As my sleepy thoughts flowed into one another, I began to think of my own parents who had raised twice as many children as I have and who still managed to provide so many “good parent” memories for me.
When I was a girl, we went to church every Sunday and by the time I was eight years old, I was expected, along with others my age and older, to stay in the sanctuary for the whole service and not go down to Sunday school with the younger children. This was a challenge for me. My mom and dad both sang in the choir and therefore sat perched in the loft at the front of the church behind the pulpit, my sister was still young enough to go out to Sunday School after the children’s story and my older brothers wouldn’t have been caught dead sitting next to me. Some weeks I sat with my friend Karen but often I sat "alone" between some kindly adults.
I am sort of a restless creature by nature and Sunday morning church services did little to remedy that trait. I was always bored, and even, I daresay, a little cynical about some of the things I was hearing from the "powers that were". Once in a while, if we felt like we could get away with it, Karen and I would play hang-man on the church bulletin but often I would just squirm in my seat thinking about lunch and trying not to let my stomach growl during the pastoral prayer.
I did love to sing however and one song was always my favourite; the closing hymn, followed by the benediction. During this hymn my little heart would start to pound as I counted the minutes to freedom. I was so excited about getting out of that building and heading home for lunch with my family. I would sing at the top of my lungs and watch the choir do the same. My mom would often catch my eye and smile.
As the song ended and we stood still for the benediction I could barely contain myself and the moment the minister had spoken his final word, I would wriggle past the other people in the pew, head straight to the front of the church and wait at the foot of the stairs leading up to the choir loft as the members draped in vibrant robes, filed passed me one by one. I‘d stand in impatient anticipation of meeting my mom and when she appeared, it was always the same; she’d reach out her winged arm, wrap me up the in the maroon colored fabric and say, “Hello sweetie pie” or “Hiya darling. Then, then stuck together at the hip, we would follow the woman in front of us out the door into the back hall and squeeze our way down the narrow, winding staircase which led to the choir room, chatting all the way about about this and that. I remember loving the feeling that other people were noticing our closeness.
On very rare occasions, if there was a visiting musical group or if my my mom had, for some reason, missed choir practice the Thursday night prior, she would sit with me in the congregation during the Sunday service. I loved sitting beside her and knowing that she was grown up and strong and that she would always be there for me. And during those long, boring sermons I would lay my head down on my mom’ shoulder and feel as safe and as loved as anyone could feel. She would reach over to my lap and tap my hand and even then I knew that I had been given a gift that not every child had, a mother who loved me and didn’t mind me needing her affection.
Our family life was busy and full in those years and moments went by in at a furious pace but those connections I had with my mom on Sunday mornings were a kind of reassurance that I mattered to her and therefore, I mattered.
My dad and I had our special connections as well. I was often the one who'd stay awake late while the others slept on long late night car rides traveling here or there. I would hang my head over the front seat and talk quietly to my dad or just watch the road with him in silence. When I was really young and learning to talk on the phone he would sometimes call from work. If was the one to answer he would always say, "Is that my sweet voice on the telephone?"
As I got older I was the only one of the kids who loved getting up early, so I would often have dad all to my self over a toast and tea breakfast. We were the same kind of person in some ways. We both liked a good idea and as I started to wrestle with the big questions of life , he was never concerned. He always had a way of making me feel like he knew I would figure things out. His liberal views allowed me to wander around some unconventional topics and he even got excited about sharing things he'd learned in his ever expanding quest for knowledge.But the thing I recalled this morning as I reflected on "good" parenting, was an activity that I shared with my dad and my siblings. I have no idea when it started, it was just always apart of my life and it was called a "trounsin'."
Many evenings, after dinner, from the time I was a toddler till I was about eight or nine I suppose, my dad would lie down on the living room floor and the four of us would scamper around him in a circle, squealing away and pretending that we did not want to be caught. Of course we did want to be caught and we were and when we were, we were “trounced”.
Now a trounsin' was a combination of tickling,wrestling, flips, and of course airplane rides on my dad’s feet. He would lift his legs off the floor bend his knees, grab our hands, push his feet into our tummies and lift us into the air. It was such a blast, especially falling to the ground in a heap of laughter. Sometimes we’d face away from him and he would use his feet like a chair to lift us off the ground by our bottoms. There we were suspended in air, feigning terror, as our arms and legs dangled, and never wanting it to end. Inevitably one of the other kids pushed us off or we'd lose our balance and down we'd go. Still other times my dad would grab us playfully drape our tummies over his bent shins and pump his legs up and down and we'd giggle uncontrollably till we were finally released.
The whole thing was a free for all of crazy energy. I suppose it started when my brothers were little, in order to give my mom time to wash the dishes in peace or something ( I seem to remember her being suspiciously absent during the trouncing hour) but it ended up being an event we looked forward to as often as my dad was willing.
He probably didn’t know what it meant to me to have that time with him. I don’t know about my siblings but I felt so loved and special. As far as I knew nobody else in the world was getting a trounsin’, and even if that wasn't true I know that my dad and his willingness to play with us after a long day of working, was a rare thing and a wonderful gift. I also know that his way of being silly with us helped us feel OK with being kids and being silly ourselves.
I have been blessed with “good” parents. They are good people, good role models and both of them showed me how to be good and decent too. The smallest of moments in the big picture of life create lasting impressions. Liza and Hannah are awake now and I am looking forward to another day of Harry Potter. Maybe someday this will be a good memory for them.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Excellence versus Perfection
I have come to believe that striving for excellence in the areas of my interest is not the same
as pressuring myself to be perfect.
Expecting perfection is a set up for judgment,failure and ultimately shame.
Perusing excellence, however, is a journey of joy and exhilaration, full of imperfections.
as pressuring myself to be perfect.
Expecting perfection is a set up for judgment,failure and ultimately shame.
Perusing excellence, however, is a journey of joy and exhilaration, full of imperfections.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Stick your feet in.
If you can... get out of the city
Go to the water, stick your feet in
Walk in the woods
Examine the unusual patterns:
-in the tree bark,
-on the rocks
-in the trails of rich colored earth
Get down low and smell the hidden flowers
Pay attention to the music:
-the waves
-the birds
-the wind through the trees
Touch the leaves, taste the air
If possible, take a child with you
Observe her response to her surroundings
Try to see what she sees, hear what she hears
Love what she loves
Sing or stay silent.
Dance or be still
Allow your senses their due
It's not just words...you will be renewed
Go to the water, stick your feet in
Walk in the woods
Examine the unusual patterns:
-in the tree bark,
-on the rocks
-in the trails of rich colored earth
Get down low and smell the hidden flowers
Pay attention to the music:
-the waves
-the birds
-the wind through the trees
Touch the leaves, taste the air
If possible, take a child with you
Observe her response to her surroundings
Try to see what she sees, hear what she hears
Love what she loves
Sing or stay silent.
Dance or be still
Allow your senses their due
It's not just words...you will be renewed
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Thank you ! Thank-you!
Has the universe ever thrown you a surprise? I mean right out of the blue, something wonderful you did not expect, or look for, or ask for, or even know you wanted?
Well, one of my surprises walked around the corner on the sidewalk in front of my house sometime last fall and as I caught sight of her out of the corner of my eye I never dreamed how important she would become to me.
I was coming out of my house one morning to take my girls to school. "She" as I said, happened to be rounding the corner just at that moment. She appeared to be about eighty years or so and moved with a careful series of small steps.
As is my want with strangers, I looked her directly in the eyes, smiled and said "Good morning."
Her response was nothing short of delightful. A huge grin spread across her face, she placed her hands together in a prayer-like posture, she bowed repeatedly in my direction and said over and over again. "Thank you Thank you."
I smiled and tried some words in response, then hurried my kids into the car lest we be late for the all important school bell. As we drove off I watched the older woman wave and smile and wave and smile and wave and smile, til she was no longer visible in the review mirror, and I thought to myself,
"Cool."
The next morning (about the same time I suppose), somewhere around 8:15, I walked out my front door and there she was again rounding the corner at the very same spot. She seemed just as surprised as I was that we had met again and we had a virtual repeat of the previous days events; me saying "Hello", her bowing and smiling and saying "Thank you. Thank you."
This time, however, I approached her and shook her hand and introduced myself. I asked for her name in return. It was then I realized she could not understand a thing that I was saying and her total English vocabulary consisted of her two words of gratitude. But her smile was as big a crescent moon and I felt so up lifted by her joy. Again, I had to get the kids to school so I said goodbye, she said thanked me and we waved as far as we could still see each other.
As the weeks went on so did our growing connection. If I wasn't out the door when she came around the corner she would slow her steps even more and sometimes, through my window, I would see her walking back the other direction just to kill time till I appeared. Then our greeting ritual, which now included a big hug, would commence and finish all within about 45 seconds, but the feeling of warmth, lasted well into the day.
Fall and then winter worn on and we had some pretty intense snowfall. I didn't see "my lady" every day but enough times during the week to keep our friendship growing. On the days when she didn't show up I assumed she was not taking chances with the icy conditions. Occasionally I would see her go by through my window but I would be inside in my pajamas because the girls were finding their own way to school.
Then, sometime in the spring, I realized that I hadn't seen my friend for several days in a row. Those days turned into a couple of weeks and a sadness began to form like a dull ache in my heart. I couldn't let myself think the worst but I carried the fear that I might never see her again.
One day in May, I opened my blinds at around 9:15 am. and there she was shuffling along the sidewalk in front of my house looking at the window with a worried expression on her face. At the moment our eyes met you would have thought the sun rose in an instant. We both started bouncing with excitement and I ran to the door, crossed the lawn and gave her a big hug.
"Thank you thank you " was all she could say. I told her that I was so glad to see her and that I had missed her and that she was looking well. I know she didn't understand my words but she knew what I was saying, because she was saying the same things back to me.
When we finally let the moment go and I was back inside, having waved to her through my window till she stopped turning around to look for me, I realized that she must have altered her walking schedule as a result of the time change in the spring. She was walking at the same time her body was used to walking regardless of what the clock said.
I still see my friend very often and I still don't know her name, but our connection brings me warmth and joy every single time. I love living in this city where people from all over the world come to find a place to call home. My friend and I are just two of those people and for bringing her into my life I would like to say to the universe, "Thank-you....thank-you"
Well, one of my surprises walked around the corner on the sidewalk in front of my house sometime last fall and as I caught sight of her out of the corner of my eye I never dreamed how important she would become to me.
I was coming out of my house one morning to take my girls to school. "She" as I said, happened to be rounding the corner just at that moment. She appeared to be about eighty years or so and moved with a careful series of small steps.
As is my want with strangers, I looked her directly in the eyes, smiled and said "Good morning."
Her response was nothing short of delightful. A huge grin spread across her face, she placed her hands together in a prayer-like posture, she bowed repeatedly in my direction and said over and over again. "Thank you Thank you."
I smiled and tried some words in response, then hurried my kids into the car lest we be late for the all important school bell. As we drove off I watched the older woman wave and smile and wave and smile and wave and smile, til she was no longer visible in the review mirror, and I thought to myself,
"Cool."
The next morning (about the same time I suppose), somewhere around 8:15, I walked out my front door and there she was again rounding the corner at the very same spot. She seemed just as surprised as I was that we had met again and we had a virtual repeat of the previous days events; me saying "Hello", her bowing and smiling and saying "Thank you. Thank you."
This time, however, I approached her and shook her hand and introduced myself. I asked for her name in return. It was then I realized she could not understand a thing that I was saying and her total English vocabulary consisted of her two words of gratitude. But her smile was as big a crescent moon and I felt so up lifted by her joy. Again, I had to get the kids to school so I said goodbye, she said thanked me and we waved as far as we could still see each other.
As the weeks went on so did our growing connection. If I wasn't out the door when she came around the corner she would slow her steps even more and sometimes, through my window, I would see her walking back the other direction just to kill time till I appeared. Then our greeting ritual, which now included a big hug, would commence and finish all within about 45 seconds, but the feeling of warmth, lasted well into the day.
Fall and then winter worn on and we had some pretty intense snowfall. I didn't see "my lady" every day but enough times during the week to keep our friendship growing. On the days when she didn't show up I assumed she was not taking chances with the icy conditions. Occasionally I would see her go by through my window but I would be inside in my pajamas because the girls were finding their own way to school.
Then, sometime in the spring, I realized that I hadn't seen my friend for several days in a row. Those days turned into a couple of weeks and a sadness began to form like a dull ache in my heart. I couldn't let myself think the worst but I carried the fear that I might never see her again.
One day in May, I opened my blinds at around 9:15 am. and there she was shuffling along the sidewalk in front of my house looking at the window with a worried expression on her face. At the moment our eyes met you would have thought the sun rose in an instant. We both started bouncing with excitement and I ran to the door, crossed the lawn and gave her a big hug.
"Thank you thank you " was all she could say. I told her that I was so glad to see her and that I had missed her and that she was looking well. I know she didn't understand my words but she knew what I was saying, because she was saying the same things back to me.
When we finally let the moment go and I was back inside, having waved to her through my window till she stopped turning around to look for me, I realized that she must have altered her walking schedule as a result of the time change in the spring. She was walking at the same time her body was used to walking regardless of what the clock said.
I still see my friend very often and I still don't know her name, but our connection brings me warmth and joy every single time. I love living in this city where people from all over the world come to find a place to call home. My friend and I are just two of those people and for bringing her into my life I would like to say to the universe, "Thank-you....thank-you"
Monday, July 6, 2009
Summer, Strawberries and Letting Go
Summer is a gift. My children are home and filling the air with laughter and energy. I hear the piano being played a lot more and friends are dropping by for visits bearing gifts of organic strawberries and the like.
We are also finding time as a family to shake the house and see what falls out. I'm a big believer in de-cluttering but I have learned that some things are precious and one must think twice before abandoning them to the give-away pile.
Still, there is much room in my life for letting go, both physically and emotionally and I am finding that this particular summer is giving me the opportunity to do just that. I am reminded again and again that we participate in the act of forgiveness to free ourselves for the forward movement of our lives.
I hope this summer gives you many opportunities to let go of that which no longer serves you, so you might embrace a new understanding of who you want to be.
We are also finding time as a family to shake the house and see what falls out. I'm a big believer in de-cluttering but I have learned that some things are precious and one must think twice before abandoning them to the give-away pile.
Still, there is much room in my life for letting go, both physically and emotionally and I am finding that this particular summer is giving me the opportunity to do just that. I am reminded again and again that we participate in the act of forgiveness to free ourselves for the forward movement of our lives.
I hope this summer gives you many opportunities to let go of that which no longer serves you, so you might embrace a new understanding of who you want to be.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
old musings...
March 10 / 06
It occurs to me that all war, internal and external, is about a lack of self love. All abuse and misdirected anger, self destruction and violence towards others, comes from this fundamental place of not loving who we are; the place of needing to take from others (and ourselves) because, for some reason, we do not feel like we are enough.
I'm certain we were not born in a state of self loathing. That, like everything else, is an acquired skill. And like every skill, it takes practice. We have to work hard to block out the good and continually engage the lies. In some cases it is a full time brain job. I held this position for a long time in my own life, but not long ago I fired myself.
It went something like this.
After a life time of trying to analyze and spiritualize and work my way to a place of self acceptance, I recently found myself in yet another pit of darkness. As I wallowed there choosing helplessness, I asked someone I love "how can you put up with me." His reply changed my life. He said, "Because this is not you. This is a false Susan."
Immediately, I knew he was right. I had allowed layer upon layer of life's difficulties to create a me unrecognizable as the person I was born to be. So I started to think, "If this is the false me who is the real me and where would I find her?" Almost instantly the images began to appear: a little girl in a uniform, beaming after winning a choral competition, a teenage camp councilor, making kids laugh with a song and dance routine, a young, university student hitch-hiking my way though Yukon Territory towards summer employment, a mother-to-be walking five miles a day to give my unborn child her best chance at strength and health.
As I practiced this new way of remembering myself, I came face to face with the reality of how much time I had spent nurturing the memories of the not so stellar moments of my life. I had created a monster me and had been living up to her reputation (at least inside my own head)
From that discovery, I decided to return to another life changing point in time. I went looking for my earliest memory of shame, my first recollection of fear, the beginnings of self hate. I found it, (without much trouble) and I won't describe it here except to say that it happened when I was two and it was not traumatic or abusive or cruel by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, to anyone watching it would probably would have appeared to be harmless, possibly amusing, but certainly a passing moment. For me however, it was the beginning of the un-truth, the agreement I made with the world to be less than me.
Re-visiting this scene in my life, I realized that my first moment of shame was linked with my first awareness of external judgment. (This is probably true for most humans). As I watched the memory play in my mind, re-living the pain I had felt as a child I was filled with a compassion for my wee self. There I was, barely passed babyhood, absorbing a comment that would shape me, change me, a criticism that I would allow to impact me from that instant onward.
This time, however, I didn't stay in the pain , because it occurred to me that if I went a little further back in time, even five minutes earlier in my life, I might find the real story, the pre-shame, pre-fear era of my existence. I might find the person who was certain of self.
So I did. I went back
The truth about strong memories is that they are strong for a reason. This memory is potent for me because it impacted me in a negative way. If it had not, I may never have remembered any part of that particular day in my life. So, when I tried to go back further, to a time even minutes before the incident of which I speak, I did not have a clear memory. All I had were my suppositions, my imagination, my belief. And using those things (which I deem valid) this is what I discovered .
Once upon a time I was a happy, naked, child, prancing proudly across my living room floor,
December 01/06:
I saw the results of a social experiment where a homeless man was given on hundred thousand dollars and all the resources needed to change his life. In a very short time the money was gone and he was homeless again. As I watched, I felt my own temptation to comment upon this situation with some sense of self-righteous judgment; and then I saw the truth. I have been given all the resources to better my own life. Time and again I am offered opportunities, support, wisdom, love and yes, even money. More often than not I have squandered some part or all of these offerings without using them to my best advantage. Today I sit in judgment of myself knowing now that I want to do better.
I must strive to be the best I can be as a response to the miracle of being, to honor the wonder of my unique possibilities. When I strive for any other reason I feel emptiness and a constant hunger for more.
Every decision I make sheds light on the divine creation that is me or casts a shadow on the same and only my heart will know the difference.
newer than new
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
I am presently reading a book called "The Amazing Power of Deliberate Intent" which (to paraphrase it's bottom line) states that as eternal, spiritual, energies each of us has manifested herself (or himself, as the case may be) in physical form for one reason and one reason only - to experience JOY. Our"job" as human beings (according to these writings)is to explore the physical realm with the purpose of discovering and living out our unique identity and role in the expansion of all that is.
Apparently, we are not here to fix things or to follow rules or to prove ourselves or collect stuff. We are here to discover our preferences based on all the contrast we see around us and then to expect our desires to manifest themselves as we simply (or not so simply) get out of their way by eliminating negative blocks to said desires.
WOW, I like it! It's a lot different than the words I grew up hearing in the Christian Church,or is it? What about: "Seek and ye shall find, knock and the door shall be open, ask and it shall be given." As a child I wanted those words to be true in a literal sense. I wanted to be able to ask for things like a trip to Disneyland or more money or a different body. But I understood, as did everyone around me, the unwritten limitations implied in those scriptures. They went something like this: Seek and ye shall find,"as long as you're looking in the direction God wants you to look. Knock and the door shall be open "just make sure you are knocking on acceptable doors. Ask and it shall be given,"provided you are asking for the "right" things. As a result of that awareness, I learned to feel guilty about asking for anything for myself because it probably wasn't what God would want or, more importantly, I probably didn't deserve it. I know, waa, waa, waa. But hear me out.
What if those scriptures really "were to be taken literally? What if those words from "God's" mouth (through what ever human conduit and mishmash of interpretations and translations and dust and grime and pony express rides) to our ears, were meant to be taken seriously, not doubted, not watered down not twisted or denied. What if we, as living creatures on the planet have more creative power than we realize and are actually meant to trust our desires and believe that we are worthy of having those desires met. What if we are meant to partake in the miraculous abundance that life has to offer and enjoy our own particular and valid way of being in the world. What if our unique interests and passions, when met and validated by our belief in our "worthiness", were to become an essential part of the process of forward movement for the entire universe towards those things which we collectively seem to desire: peace, wellness, respect, connection and riches for all. And what if we could each fulfill our dreams without needing to measure them up against the dreams of others.
I, for one, am newer than new when it comes to self valuing but I have noticed one thing. The days, or should I say moments, when I choose to believe that "Ask and it shall be given" was meant as a truthful, gracious offering from the universe and its loving entities, are the moments I feel hopeful, worthy, loved and loving. On the other hand, the moments I doubt the truth of those words, I feel hopeless, selfish, lost and am left with not much to offer. The concept that we are all here to experience the joy of being our unique selves in order to better all life, is becoming easier and easier for me to grasp. Even if it is not true that I found my way into this particular body and being to recognize my preferences and experience the fullness of joy through pursuit of the same, and even if it is folly to imagine that the fulfillment of my desires may some somehow have a positive effect on something so grand as the expansion of the universe itself, I live better when I believe these things to be true.
I am presently reading a book called "The Amazing Power of Deliberate Intent" which (to paraphrase it's bottom line) states that as eternal, spiritual, energies each of us has manifested herself (or himself, as the case may be) in physical form for one reason and one reason only - to experience JOY. Our"job" as human beings (according to these writings)is to explore the physical realm with the purpose of discovering and living out our unique identity and role in the expansion of all that is.
Apparently, we are not here to fix things or to follow rules or to prove ourselves or collect stuff. We are here to discover our preferences based on all the contrast we see around us and then to expect our desires to manifest themselves as we simply (or not so simply) get out of their way by eliminating negative blocks to said desires.
WOW, I like it! It's a lot different than the words I grew up hearing in the Christian Church,or is it? What about: "Seek and ye shall find, knock and the door shall be open, ask and it shall be given." As a child I wanted those words to be true in a literal sense. I wanted to be able to ask for things like a trip to Disneyland or more money or a different body. But I understood, as did everyone around me, the unwritten limitations implied in those scriptures. They went something like this: Seek and ye shall find,"as long as you're looking in the direction God wants you to look. Knock and the door shall be open "just make sure you are knocking on acceptable doors. Ask and it shall be given,"provided you are asking for the "right" things. As a result of that awareness, I learned to feel guilty about asking for anything for myself because it probably wasn't what God would want or, more importantly, I probably didn't deserve it. I know, waa, waa, waa. But hear me out.
What if those scriptures really "were to be taken literally? What if those words from "God's" mouth (through what ever human conduit and mishmash of interpretations and translations and dust and grime and pony express rides) to our ears, were meant to be taken seriously, not doubted, not watered down not twisted or denied. What if we, as living creatures on the planet have more creative power than we realize and are actually meant to trust our desires and believe that we are worthy of having those desires met. What if we are meant to partake in the miraculous abundance that life has to offer and enjoy our own particular and valid way of being in the world. What if our unique interests and passions, when met and validated by our belief in our "worthiness", were to become an essential part of the process of forward movement for the entire universe towards those things which we collectively seem to desire: peace, wellness, respect, connection and riches for all. And what if we could each fulfill our dreams without needing to measure them up against the dreams of others.
I, for one, am newer than new when it comes to self valuing but I have noticed one thing. The days, or should I say moments, when I choose to believe that "Ask and it shall be given" was meant as a truthful, gracious offering from the universe and its loving entities, are the moments I feel hopeful, worthy, loved and loving. On the other hand, the moments I doubt the truth of those words, I feel hopeless, selfish, lost and am left with not much to offer. The concept that we are all here to experience the joy of being our unique selves in order to better all life, is becoming easier and easier for me to grasp. Even if it is not true that I found my way into this particular body and being to recognize my preferences and experience the fullness of joy through pursuit of the same, and even if it is folly to imagine that the fulfillment of my desires may some somehow have a positive effect on something so grand as the expansion of the universe itself, I live better when I believe these things to be true.
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