During a recent writing assignment I had to write two letters to myself: one from 80 year old me, and one from 8 year old me. The funny part is, they were almost identical in their content! They both urged the importance of fun and play, and they both warned of the dangers of stasis and over analysis.
The answers are clear: go to bed earlier, embrace your day, eat well, move your body, align yourself with people and situations that feel good, work hard, don’t worry so much, live simply, explore, feed your bliss, be kind, be patient, make love not war, don’t over indulge in computers and television, practice gratitude, drink water, be good to the earth, take care of yourself like you are your own child, play, try scary things, question limits, listen more, spend a little time alone every day, call your grandparents on Sundays, keep a clean home, floss, stretch, sing, dance, spend $20 on a bottle of wine once a week rather than $10 on a bottle every day, hope for things, find and follow your personal mythology, spend time in nature, don’t drive too fast…
Like a moody teenager yelling “I KNOW!” to their well meaning mother, we act out and selectively forget this intuitive truth when days and minds get busy and for whatever reason we let the pile of dirty clothes grow in the corner of the room. We know what feels good and what does not. Like endorphins flowing through the body after a long run, life endorphins pump just as hard when taxes are complete or a spontaneous solitary walk finds us just a little more able to be where we are.
For some reason we like to punish ourselves, we like to wait until the once surmountable becomes insurmountable. Running on the adrenaline of “I can’t believe I’ve gotten away with ignoring this for so long” we scramble to shove things in corners and half way handle our business to a passable degree. We all do it in some area or other of life. “I’m just not financially savvy” or “I’m more cerebral than physical”, or “I just don’t have the time”, we tell ourselves all these things and more, continuing to veil the truth that if we actually got shit done we would have a lot more time to fulfill our heart’s desires.
And isn’t that a terrifying thought?
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
I don't get it...
I never cease to be amazed at how much of ourselves we negotiate away for what we feel is correct behavior. Even in the tenderest of relationships there is an energetic exchange that when awareness slips, easily tumbles into negotiation territory. We want to love, support, mediate and encourage. We want to heal past hurts and forge new relationships and remain always open to ever shifting change. But there needs to be a centre to it all.
Balance and paradox are the tweedle-dee and tweedle-dumb of growth. We strive to be our own centre but never self-centered. We hear the wisdom in creating boundaries but then we try to live without fear and what are boundaries if not constructs of fear? Living on the earth to me means living with a willingness to engage with all of it, including the shit. But staying connected to the sky means that I often see the shit from miles away and cannot believe that I will inevitably embroil myself in it.
There is striving and reaching alongside release and effort-less flow. Is the inhale the easy part or the hard part? It takes just as many muscles to let go. I read recently that it is always easier to do the work than stay blocked. But we are tied to ourselves so intrinsically that our blocks are our work and our work is the expression of the block- they are as married as the pearl in the slimy oyster.
The dirt of living is the heart of living. There are fields of flowers growing across our chests with every breath. And in every need to be received is a need to give something of ourselves; there is tender intention in and amongst all our tired reasons. We are making excuses all the time for not knowing ourselves well enough. I was late because… why was I late? I am mad because… fuck you, I don’t know why but I am so leave me alone. We must dirty ourselves and face the broken terra-cotta pots of experience that line the soil in the soul of our through line, for they give breath to the fusion of water and earth and allow for new growth.
Blessings be to never understanding and always trying to. Blessings be to the paradox in the mystery of why we were given minds and hearts big enough to ask the questions but too small to handle the answers. Blessings be to the miraculous in the journey of humanness.
Balance and paradox are the tweedle-dee and tweedle-dumb of growth. We strive to be our own centre but never self-centered. We hear the wisdom in creating boundaries but then we try to live without fear and what are boundaries if not constructs of fear? Living on the earth to me means living with a willingness to engage with all of it, including the shit. But staying connected to the sky means that I often see the shit from miles away and cannot believe that I will inevitably embroil myself in it.
There is striving and reaching alongside release and effort-less flow. Is the inhale the easy part or the hard part? It takes just as many muscles to let go. I read recently that it is always easier to do the work than stay blocked. But we are tied to ourselves so intrinsically that our blocks are our work and our work is the expression of the block- they are as married as the pearl in the slimy oyster.
The dirt of living is the heart of living. There are fields of flowers growing across our chests with every breath. And in every need to be received is a need to give something of ourselves; there is tender intention in and amongst all our tired reasons. We are making excuses all the time for not knowing ourselves well enough. I was late because… why was I late? I am mad because… fuck you, I don’t know why but I am so leave me alone. We must dirty ourselves and face the broken terra-cotta pots of experience that line the soil in the soul of our through line, for they give breath to the fusion of water and earth and allow for new growth.
Blessings be to never understanding and always trying to. Blessings be to the paradox in the mystery of why we were given minds and hearts big enough to ask the questions but too small to handle the answers. Blessings be to the miraculous in the journey of humanness.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Here. Now.
What happens when a moment loses its potency? How do we transcend expectation and be free enough to feel our way through it as empty as it may seem? Do I have the courage to face this kind of work?
The theatre is a sacred space: a chapel where collective imagination is the god to which we pray together. We rejoice in the resonance of truth, we recognize our humanness in transcendental archetypes and come together to forgive the parts of us that are the villain and applaud the meat of us that is triumphant hero.
As actors we enter into a contract with ourselves, our colleagues, the audience and the muses of the moment. We are humans that promise to be vessels for shamanic interventions. Getting out of our own way to allow for this kind of transformation is difficult to learn and unfortunately rarely practiced with diligence and self honesty. A rare few aspire to be invisible save but the physical body that carries these messages. Most relish in the lights and the curtain call; this kind of ego-based environment does not leave much room for those that yearn to disappear in the collective landscape.
We wrestle with the impulse to win, to get it right, to be approved of. Most give in completely and a creative experience quickly turns into an energetic tantrum competition with the winner gaining the attention he/she sought but losing a part of what called them to this path in the first place. When I catch myself in this cycle of suffering I feel like a spoiled child. The artist within me retreats and cowers in the corner afraid to come out for fear of being squeezed to produce the sweet milk that powers her.
The artist within me rejects the reward based system entirely, but the human woman longs to succeed not really knowing what that would even look like. Fear of lack is the greatest destroyer of love, art and inner vibrancy. I am I enough? Is this moment enough?
How could a moment ever lose potency? It is new and full and ripe every time. Present moment-ness is the single greatest skill required to live well, on and off stage. The courage to live this way, completely open to what may be, is found where? The courage to forgive ourselves for forgetting is found where? The irony is, it is found in the present moment. Empty, full, alive or dulled down, however we feel is real and valid. It’s coming from somewhere. That is the place we must begin from at all times: wherever we are NOW.
I pray for release. I pray for the grace required to let go and be where I am. Here. Now.
The theatre is a sacred space: a chapel where collective imagination is the god to which we pray together. We rejoice in the resonance of truth, we recognize our humanness in transcendental archetypes and come together to forgive the parts of us that are the villain and applaud the meat of us that is triumphant hero.
As actors we enter into a contract with ourselves, our colleagues, the audience and the muses of the moment. We are humans that promise to be vessels for shamanic interventions. Getting out of our own way to allow for this kind of transformation is difficult to learn and unfortunately rarely practiced with diligence and self honesty. A rare few aspire to be invisible save but the physical body that carries these messages. Most relish in the lights and the curtain call; this kind of ego-based environment does not leave much room for those that yearn to disappear in the collective landscape.
We wrestle with the impulse to win, to get it right, to be approved of. Most give in completely and a creative experience quickly turns into an energetic tantrum competition with the winner gaining the attention he/she sought but losing a part of what called them to this path in the first place. When I catch myself in this cycle of suffering I feel like a spoiled child. The artist within me retreats and cowers in the corner afraid to come out for fear of being squeezed to produce the sweet milk that powers her.
The artist within me rejects the reward based system entirely, but the human woman longs to succeed not really knowing what that would even look like. Fear of lack is the greatest destroyer of love, art and inner vibrancy. I am I enough? Is this moment enough?
How could a moment ever lose potency? It is new and full and ripe every time. Present moment-ness is the single greatest skill required to live well, on and off stage. The courage to live this way, completely open to what may be, is found where? The courage to forgive ourselves for forgetting is found where? The irony is, it is found in the present moment. Empty, full, alive or dulled down, however we feel is real and valid. It’s coming from somewhere. That is the place we must begin from at all times: wherever we are NOW.
I pray for release. I pray for the grace required to let go and be where I am. Here. Now.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Your Love
The night following your death
a fast dark storm
blew across the lake
Sending me
and a bottle of your favourite
cinnamon whisky
into the basement
awaiting Oz-like
teleportation
But it was over
As fast as it rolled in
And outside,
the rain soaked trees,
with their lightening scorched branches,
basked in the golden light
of calm and almost dusk.
I found myself alone
In the eerie still-
Amazed by the earths response
To your passing:
A cacophony,
An operatic ode to you,
A violent transformation
of energy,
turned in on itself
to become this
yellow light of peace.
And just as I started
to get the joke
You chimed in
with a zinger of your own-
A double rainbow
Shining above my tear-stained face
You were smiling,
Twice.
Upside down,
but smiling.
You were smug and sweet
up there-
It suited You.
And as I watched You
Fade into the dusty sky
I wondered aloud
“Granddad, can you hear me?”
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Hot white lightening
Shook the pink whispers
Of clouds
Beneath
Your melting, double grin.
Okay, I get it-
You will never leave me-
Us-
You are father, husband, friend
And most certainly: Granddad
Of Epic
Fairytale proportions
Happily ever after
With your love as your legacy-
Your love:
It has the power
To rip the sky open
And then sing it softly to sleep.
Welcome to Oz, Granddad.
a fast dark storm
blew across the lake
Sending me
and a bottle of your favourite
cinnamon whisky
into the basement
awaiting Oz-like
teleportation
But it was over
As fast as it rolled in
And outside,
the rain soaked trees,
with their lightening scorched branches,
basked in the golden light
of calm and almost dusk.
I found myself alone
In the eerie still-
Amazed by the earths response
To your passing:
A cacophony,
An operatic ode to you,
A violent transformation
of energy,
turned in on itself
to become this
yellow light of peace.
And just as I started
to get the joke
You chimed in
with a zinger of your own-
A double rainbow
Shining above my tear-stained face
You were smiling,
Twice.
Upside down,
but smiling.
You were smug and sweet
up there-
It suited You.
And as I watched You
Fade into the dusty sky
I wondered aloud
“Granddad, can you hear me?”
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Hot white lightening
Shook the pink whispers
Of clouds
Beneath
Your melting, double grin.
Okay, I get it-
You will never leave me-
Us-
You are father, husband, friend
And most certainly: Granddad
Of Epic
Fairytale proportions
Happily ever after
With your love as your legacy-
Your love:
It has the power
To rip the sky open
And then sing it softly to sleep.
Welcome to Oz, Granddad.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Beings of the Sun
There is a certain something present in all things: an essence, a resonance, a history of associations, a feeling that rings true. We are called to answer. We are blood beings. A band of merry followers of the sun, we march on toward the light.
Can we learn this essence? Can we go towards the tricks of light while making footprints on sand and trail? Earth and sky, can you resolve your differences and be unified in providing a safe haven for dimension traveling entities?
I have learned things here. I know that love is real and when invested in, returned in buckets and barrels. I know that we are pushed and pulled by inner workings whose intentions are rarely revealed until their final reckoning. I know that the things we are told to reach for are rarely the things that end up being those we wish we’d focused on. I have learned that most of my friends and I are dealing with first world problems that provide us with the unique opportunity to expand in a way that goes beyond survival.
There is many a thread to pull here. Unraveling must take place if expansion is desired. This can be uncomfortable for both the unraveled and the spectators of this self imposed blood sport.
We talk in tongues, metaphors and ambiguous diagrams. We are seekers, first-rate warriors of need. I am hopeful that my own flailing about in the mire of it all will somehow provide solace for those nubile adventurers who fear the isolation that often accompanies the search. I want it to be clear: your questions are valid. This is a confusing place that does not lend its paradigms well to the dissolution of boundaries and the innate need to connect.
Pray for us.
Honour the elders of this endeavour.
I am here in a solitary cry to the sun. It is my chant, my mantra, a war cry that responds to the hurt world. You are already healed. You are in flux. There is beauty in the humanity of pain. Be released in the horror of the moment. The next will roll and it will be winter, spring, summer, autumn again.
Can we learn this essence? Can we go towards the tricks of light while making footprints on sand and trail? Earth and sky, can you resolve your differences and be unified in providing a safe haven for dimension traveling entities?
I have learned things here. I know that love is real and when invested in, returned in buckets and barrels. I know that we are pushed and pulled by inner workings whose intentions are rarely revealed until their final reckoning. I know that the things we are told to reach for are rarely the things that end up being those we wish we’d focused on. I have learned that most of my friends and I are dealing with first world problems that provide us with the unique opportunity to expand in a way that goes beyond survival.
There is many a thread to pull here. Unraveling must take place if expansion is desired. This can be uncomfortable for both the unraveled and the spectators of this self imposed blood sport.
We talk in tongues, metaphors and ambiguous diagrams. We are seekers, first-rate warriors of need. I am hopeful that my own flailing about in the mire of it all will somehow provide solace for those nubile adventurers who fear the isolation that often accompanies the search. I want it to be clear: your questions are valid. This is a confusing place that does not lend its paradigms well to the dissolution of boundaries and the innate need to connect.
Pray for us.
Honour the elders of this endeavour.
I am here in a solitary cry to the sun. It is my chant, my mantra, a war cry that responds to the hurt world. You are already healed. You are in flux. There is beauty in the humanity of pain. Be released in the horror of the moment. The next will roll and it will be winter, spring, summer, autumn again.
Friday, May 27, 2011
A Love Like Yours
“You don’t love me half as much as I love you” said my dying Granddad as I kissed him good bye tonight. “But where could you possibly fit a love like that in your skinny self?” I asked him. “Oh you just blow up your insides like a balloon and you’ll find some space”, he told me.
So that’s what I am going to do; I’m going to blow up my insides like a balloon. I am going to make myself so available to love that hope and soulful self expression in the aid of love will make the material stretch and stretch so more and more love can expand inside of me. I will be the reflection of infinite love in you.
Melodies still escape from Granddad’s parched lips even as he struggles to grapple with what time or day it is. Some things, like love and music, cannot be got at by even cancer or the morphine required to keep its pain at bay. These are potent things. These are tonics for the soul when it is weary from fighting the fight of life. He can receive a kiss from his wife of 57 years that light up his eyes that were drooping only moments before.
We must protect our basic human right to experience these things. We must live kind lives so we can slip eventually into the unknown with illuminated souls that will light the dark uncertain path that lies ahead. We must learn songs so we can sing them to the dying, and we must live with open hearts so that our voices carry not just words but resonant healing sounds, prayers of peace. We must live lives of service so we can know that each soul deserves a kiss goodnight especially in the darkest hour when they are sweaty and smelly and crying for mercy. We must give pieces of ourselves away each time we give and be unafraid that we will run out. We are infinite if we believe it to be true. We must support the lovers, the carers, the artists, the innovators, the healers and those who contribute in little and big ways to the quality of the lives of others.
We hang here by a thread. Our mere existence is miraculous. If I was ever searching for the result of unraveling the miraculous it would be that: to be is to be miraculous and to be miraculous is to be god.
Granddad, may you fall gently into a soft night. Your blend of softness and strength has helped me to recognize what a good man is and your sweetness and spice has taught me the joy that is living. May I honour you everyday as I reach to be me as much as you are so authentically you. And for every breath you have left in your perfect human incarnation, may the love that surrounds you be a healing balm when the daggers in your bones start their work.
Blessings be to the sick and prayers of strength to the people that care for them.
And for the young, for the vibrant and very much alive: may we know our true power, may we meditate on death in order to understand without fear the delicious temporal gift of life.
I burn to know a love like yours Granddad. Thank you for being my teacher, I can’t wait to kiss you tomorrow.
So that’s what I am going to do; I’m going to blow up my insides like a balloon. I am going to make myself so available to love that hope and soulful self expression in the aid of love will make the material stretch and stretch so more and more love can expand inside of me. I will be the reflection of infinite love in you.
Melodies still escape from Granddad’s parched lips even as he struggles to grapple with what time or day it is. Some things, like love and music, cannot be got at by even cancer or the morphine required to keep its pain at bay. These are potent things. These are tonics for the soul when it is weary from fighting the fight of life. He can receive a kiss from his wife of 57 years that light up his eyes that were drooping only moments before.
We must protect our basic human right to experience these things. We must live kind lives so we can slip eventually into the unknown with illuminated souls that will light the dark uncertain path that lies ahead. We must learn songs so we can sing them to the dying, and we must live with open hearts so that our voices carry not just words but resonant healing sounds, prayers of peace. We must live lives of service so we can know that each soul deserves a kiss goodnight especially in the darkest hour when they are sweaty and smelly and crying for mercy. We must give pieces of ourselves away each time we give and be unafraid that we will run out. We are infinite if we believe it to be true. We must support the lovers, the carers, the artists, the innovators, the healers and those who contribute in little and big ways to the quality of the lives of others.
We hang here by a thread. Our mere existence is miraculous. If I was ever searching for the result of unraveling the miraculous it would be that: to be is to be miraculous and to be miraculous is to be god.
Granddad, may you fall gently into a soft night. Your blend of softness and strength has helped me to recognize what a good man is and your sweetness and spice has taught me the joy that is living. May I honour you everyday as I reach to be me as much as you are so authentically you. And for every breath you have left in your perfect human incarnation, may the love that surrounds you be a healing balm when the daggers in your bones start their work.
Blessings be to the sick and prayers of strength to the people that care for them.
And for the young, for the vibrant and very much alive: may we know our true power, may we meditate on death in order to understand without fear the delicious temporal gift of life.
I burn to know a love like yours Granddad. Thank you for being my teacher, I can’t wait to kiss you tomorrow.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Marriage Blessing
you are here for me
to call the half of you forth
that has been hidden from yourself
since child-like wonderment
and curiosity
vanquished itself in favour of the world
i need this half of you
the hidden half
the half that connects
the half that knows,
the intuitive touch,
the soothing balm,
the all knowing lover
this is the half of me that you called forth,
the reason i am able to be where I am,
how I am staying connected to the source of strength.
you have reignited and reunited me with myself
in your perfect wholeness that I see
coming to the surface in your eyes.
these halves of ourselves
are the healers we are
the healers; we are here to heal each other
with love.
to call the half of you forth
that has been hidden from yourself
since child-like wonderment
and curiosity
vanquished itself in favour of the world
i need this half of you
the hidden half
the half that connects
the half that knows,
the intuitive touch,
the soothing balm,
the all knowing lover
this is the half of me that you called forth,
the reason i am able to be where I am,
how I am staying connected to the source of strength.
you have reignited and reunited me with myself
in your perfect wholeness that I see
coming to the surface in your eyes.
these halves of ourselves
are the healers we are
the healers; we are here to heal each other
with love.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)