Controlling my state of being.

The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. (Galatians 5:22)

I read the theme for this week's Blog Carnival and thought, maybe I can miss it. Maybe I can be too busy? Perhaps on Tuesday I'll have a funeral to attend, Or a root canal booked. Perhaps, I'll give myself a break. I just won't do it. No excuses. No reason. Just because... I choose not to.

Self-control.

That's the word prompt.

Self-control.

I exercised it recently. Just last evening. Took Ellie for a walk. It was a picture perfect early spring evening. The river flowed in the valley bottom. We walked high up on the ridge. The wind rustled through the grasses, telling stories of places far away, of where it's been and how it's going to pass along the secrets of other times.

I walked along the trail that edges the ridge and Ellie meandered amidst the grasses.

Above a wedge of swans passed over. I looked up. Looked through the ethereal white of their wings. Whispered edges. Blue sky streaming into infinity. I listened to their honks. Joyful. Gleeful. Filled with delight. Necks craned forward, they flew, delicate tapestry of wings whirring in the air. They flew and honked and I stood beneath them, neck craned upward, staring up into their beauty. Entranced. To the south, a lone swan honked. Plaintive. Complaining. He furiously flapped its wings. "Wait for me. Wait for me." he cried, wings flapping as he flew, closer and closer, cutting the wedge off as it arced towards him. Relieved, his plaintiff cry turned joyful as he added his honk to the caucus of the bevy.

Exercise in self-control.

I wanted to scramble down the ridge to the valley bottom. I wanted to meander through the woods, let Ellie race into the water. I wanted to linger in the evening glow of dusk settling.

It was too late. Too much at risk wandering through the woods at night. Coyote. Cougar. Bear. They frequent this river valley too. Man as well.

Time to turn back.

Ellie looked longingly at the river below. I turned back. Turned towards the beaten path. Another time, I told her. We'll start out earlier in the evening.

I paused to savour the view. I glanced west towards the gold and crimson, violet and indigo hues of the setting sun.

I breathed deeply.

Self-control.

Once, I feared losing control. Feared being out of control and got so far on the other side of my control, I could not control my self.

I let go. Let loose. Unhooked. Untethered my connections.

Out of control I lost all sense of direction, all knowing of my self.

And then I found myself on the other side of the darkness. Found myself in that place where to control my self, all I needed was to remember, that was then, this is now.

This is now.

Self-control.

I imagine a car. A fast little sports car. The smell of leather. Wooden panels. Gleaming lights on console. Tight space. Bucket seat contoured snugly around my body. Hand warm on the knob of the gearshift. Cool, smooth wood. Foot on accelerator. Foot pressed into clutch. I ease up on the clutch. Ease into speed. Smoothly.Deftly. Change gear. Speed up. Feel the road beneath me. Feel the car hugging the pavement. Leaning into the curve. Speed up. In control. Shift gears. Faster. Faster. Shifting gears. Eyes on the road.

In control.

I cannot help myself, my eldest daughter once proclaimed after a particularly dramatic outburst involving her sister, a borrowed sweater and a missing button.

If you can't help yourself, I asked. Who can?

To control my life is to give up all need to be in control. To lean into what's happening around me is to let go of all control of the world outside me as I shift into gear my inner being, my inner knowing. I am exercising self-control when I give up giving into my fear that the world around me is out of my control.

It is.

I didn't go to the river's bottom last night. I exercised self-control. It is a muscle I am learning to control so that my world does not drive itself out of control. Last night, I pulled back before I journeyed into the darkness of the forest. Before I felt the cool of night edging at my peace of mind.

I told myself I didn't need to slip into the darkness. I didn't need to exercise my will to defy my self-control. I only needed to surrender and fall into that place where I am at one with my world, no matter its condition, no matter my state of being. That place where I know, all is well with my soul. I am safe in God's embrace.

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It's another Blog Carnival Tuesday, sponsored by Bridget Chumbley of One Word at a Time and Peter Pollock of Rediscovering the Church.

No matter that the theme awoke my trepidation of venturing into that place where I feared the need to examine self-control, it is a wonderful day!

The Blog Carnival is a biweekly online event open to anyone. Participants are invited to write an essay on a one-word prompt or topic. This week's is "self-control".

Click here to become immersed in what other's have written on the power of self-control. I promise, you will be enlightened!

Surrender and fall in love

Sunday, March 25

Sunday morning. I wake and wonder, what to write. It’s the same old, same old. Believing the process must be known before I begin, rather than just being in the process and letting it unfold. Wanting to direct the action from without, rather than being directed from within.

I’m in Vancouver. It’s raining. But, it’s green. This is such a beautiful city. Flowers bloom. Trees are in blossom. The air is sweet.

Perhaps one of the things I like most about this city is I do not have memories of the journey into hell with Conrad attached to every place. My memories here are of healing. Of reclamation. Of restoration. It was here that I first awoke from the nightmare of that relationship. It was here that I first faced the truth without fear, without believing that the lie was safer. It was here I let go of the lie and began the process of turning up for me.

It was here I came alive.

Memories are such tricky fellows. They can hurt or they can restore. When I let go of the need to hurt myself with memory, I become focused on forgiveness, not anger. And forgiveness is so much lighter than anger.

Recently A. was angry about the situation with her father. Do you want to love him or hate him I asked. Love him she replied. Then forgive him. Forgiveness will move you into love. Anger will keep you stuck.

When I said that to her I turned those words into myself. Am I an angry or a forgiving person? How do I want to live my life? In love or anger? Love. Then the answer is simple. Step into forgiveness. Let anger go.

But….

Ahhh, the eternal but. What about what he did. What about what she said. What about how he lied to me, hurt me, betrayed me.

What about it?

Can I change it? Alter it? Affect him or the past?

There is nothing I can do about it, other than to hold it in place with anger and let it fester or forgive so that I can surrender and fall in love.

My friend N. always says, Anger, like acid will corrode the vessel containing it.

Anger, like acid, will corrode the heart. Anger will harden arteries, stiffen spines and break bones.

Forgiveness will open a broken heart to love. Forgiveness will open arms to loving. Forgiveness will set me free.

My gift for myself today is to walk in love, through every moment, every step. My gift for myself is to treat the world with the loving kindness I deserve.

Time passes and I flow with it

I was in Vancouver for the weekend and did not have web access. But, I did keep my commitment to write every morning. I couldn't post what I wrote and am catching up and posting now!

Saturday, March 24

Funny how every morning begins with, I’m so tired. I flew to Vancouver last night. My plane was an hour late. An hour to kill. An hour to fill. To waste. To get through. To put up with. To enjoy.

Late plane. Airport bar. I sit by the window. I order a glass of wine. Why not? Time’s flying and I’m grounded for an hour. An hour filled with no expectations other than to wait for time to pass by. I watch the world outside the warm enclosure of the restaurant. Jets come and go. Land. Take off. Taxi in. Taxi out. Baggage trucks pull up to their silver hulls. Empty bellies. Fill bellies. Baggage handlers scurry to and fro loading suitcases for other travelers going places unknown to me. Expected by them. On time. They move out of the periphery of my world. Everything bustles with energy, activity, purpose.

I sit and wait. And watch.

An hour with nothing to do. Unscheduled. Unplanned. Unaccounted for.

Is the world passing me by while I waste an hour or is the world simply passing by while I indulge in the joy of doing nothing but sit and watch it pass by for an hour?

Time is a continuum. There is never more, nor less time. An unscheduled hour does not need filling. It will pass. I can be frustrated. I can pass it with my peace of mind intact. An unscheduled hour fills me with the possibilities of doing nothing. It is an unexpected gift filled with the possibilities of reveling in the joy of one hour to sit and relax, to drift, to breathe.

Does the world pass by, or, pass me by?

The latter is the victim’s voice. The world is busy while I am inactive, inanimate, ineffective. In both cases I’m watching. Yet when I state, pass me by, the voice is passive, yearning, mournful.

I watch the world pass by with me in the flow of time. An hour to enjoy the panoply of life played out before me. I am the centre of my universe as the world revolves around those who are the centre of their own universes. I am in a world of personal universes touching briefly, moving on, in and out constantly moving in the flow of time.

I sit and watch and breathe and enjoy the moment to not have any demands, no responsibilities, no emergencies. The world passes by as I pass an enjoyable hour in its thrall. As I release the switches holding my mind in check, I begin to feel ideas floating into the periphery of my thinking. I pull out my notebook, begin to write. Ideas flow as I surrender into the moment. The outline for The Dandelion Garden: Cultivating Joy In Every Day Occurrences begins to take shape.

I am in the flow, connected to the collective whole from which inspiration flows through me. It ignites my imagination. My fingers fly and I feel the angst of time passing without me getting caught in the anxiety of having to track each passing moment. I ease into the joy of being in the moment. Alive, I surrender, and fall, in love with the moment where right now is all I have, all I need, all I want.