No blog today
a flu is in the way
or is it just ennui
'cause winter's dropped in to stay.
No sleep last night
stomach having a fight
with calm and peaceful slumber
But I'll see ya tomorrow. I promise. Alright?
Monday, January 10, 2011
Sunday, January 9, 2011
A day of pure magic
I heard a comment on CBC Radio yesterday from an interview with performer/singer Brandon Flowers.
He commented that he avoided public speaking as much as possible because in public speaking, he has to be himself, and he finds it so much easier to perform -- because then, he's not really presenting himself, he's presenting the person he's being in the performance.
I went in search of Flowers music after that -- and he's good. I really like his voice. But, his words got me thinking.
I prefer to speak in public than perform. I know how to be me. I don't know how to be someone else -- even when that someone else is a character I'm learning to perform.
Yesterday, when we ran the rehearsal for A DI Wedding: The Musical, I was in awe of the beauty and wonder of the human spirit. There were no performers there. Just real, live, humanely honest people being themselves.
It was stunning.
Firstly, what Onalea Gilbertson, our Director, has done with all the writings -- from scribbled notes and scratched out prose written in ten minute intervals as part of the groups process -- is amazing. She has created a piece that flows -- effortlessly weaving in a love story that touches deeply into hearts, stirring the mind with questions and feeding the spirit's craving for answers.
Can love survive in a homeless shelter? one man asks before throwing his notebook on the floor. No. He screams.
Bullshit, answers a woman.
And a young man stands up. He is nineteen. Struggling to find himself after a lifetime of abuse. "Why? Why would you say it can't," he says to the first man as he walks to the podium to read his notes. "This is the first place I've ever been where I've truly known love," he says. "It had to be here for me to find it."
And the play moves on.
It is stirring and funny and witty and clever and it is all real. No performances of someone else here. Just real people speaking of what is real for them.
John, an older man who plays a wicked guitar, wrote a song called, Get a Room. It's a common saying around the shelter when two people connect -- Get a Room.
See, there's no place for intimacy in a homeless shelter. No place for privacy, for couples to be together.
Get a Room, people say.
And often, they can't because, for whatever reason, they don't have money. They don't have a job. They don't have anything they can see as possibility. And if they can, Get a Room, they take the money they may have been saving to move on out, and use it for one night, or maybe two, of privacy. And then, they're right back at where they were, struggling once again to put together the needed cash to move on out. Struggling to get rid of their addiction. Struggling to make sense of the nonsense of their lives.
And sometimes, it is love that gives them the impetus to find their senses, to find the courage and strength to move on out. To get more than, a room. To get a place to call home.
And sometimes, that place to call home is someone else's heart, if only for awhile. Someone else to share the journey, if only for the time being. And in that sharing, in that little while, they find peace, and a sense of joy, of wonder, of Love.
Can love survive in a shelter -- it never died.
It was a great morning. A morning of wonder and spirits soaring and ideas flying freely through the minds of all of us gathered together. Taking shape, filling out.
And then, I worked with twelve women as they moved through The Passion Test, identifying what makes their hearts tick, what makes their lives rich.
When I got home, my daughter Alexis and I watched a movie and ate popcorn. We laughed and joked and spent a beautiful evening together. A storm has blown in from the north bringing with it frigid temperatures and blowing snow. And there we were, mother and daughter, just the two of us, making it without trying, into a perfect evening,
It was a day of pure magic.
I am blessed.
May you be blessed today in everything you do and experience. May your heart be filled with joy, may your mind be filled with wonder, may your spirit soar.
He commented that he avoided public speaking as much as possible because in public speaking, he has to be himself, and he finds it so much easier to perform -- because then, he's not really presenting himself, he's presenting the person he's being in the performance.
I went in search of Flowers music after that -- and he's good. I really like his voice. But, his words got me thinking.
I prefer to speak in public than perform. I know how to be me. I don't know how to be someone else -- even when that someone else is a character I'm learning to perform.
Yesterday, when we ran the rehearsal for A DI Wedding: The Musical, I was in awe of the beauty and wonder of the human spirit. There were no performers there. Just real, live, humanely honest people being themselves.
It was stunning.
Firstly, what Onalea Gilbertson, our Director, has done with all the writings -- from scribbled notes and scratched out prose written in ten minute intervals as part of the groups process -- is amazing. She has created a piece that flows -- effortlessly weaving in a love story that touches deeply into hearts, stirring the mind with questions and feeding the spirit's craving for answers.
Can love survive in a homeless shelter? one man asks before throwing his notebook on the floor. No. He screams.
Bullshit, answers a woman.
And a young man stands up. He is nineteen. Struggling to find himself after a lifetime of abuse. "Why? Why would you say it can't," he says to the first man as he walks to the podium to read his notes. "This is the first place I've ever been where I've truly known love," he says. "It had to be here for me to find it."
And the play moves on.
It is stirring and funny and witty and clever and it is all real. No performances of someone else here. Just real people speaking of what is real for them.
John, an older man who plays a wicked guitar, wrote a song called, Get a Room. It's a common saying around the shelter when two people connect -- Get a Room.
See, there's no place for intimacy in a homeless shelter. No place for privacy, for couples to be together.
Get a Room, people say.
And often, they can't because, for whatever reason, they don't have money. They don't have a job. They don't have anything they can see as possibility. And if they can, Get a Room, they take the money they may have been saving to move on out, and use it for one night, or maybe two, of privacy. And then, they're right back at where they were, struggling once again to put together the needed cash to move on out. Struggling to get rid of their addiction. Struggling to make sense of the nonsense of their lives.
And sometimes, it is love that gives them the impetus to find their senses, to find the courage and strength to move on out. To get more than, a room. To get a place to call home.
And sometimes, that place to call home is someone else's heart, if only for awhile. Someone else to share the journey, if only for the time being. And in that sharing, in that little while, they find peace, and a sense of joy, of wonder, of Love.
Can love survive in a shelter -- it never died.
It was a great morning. A morning of wonder and spirits soaring and ideas flying freely through the minds of all of us gathered together. Taking shape, filling out.
And then, I worked with twelve women as they moved through The Passion Test, identifying what makes their hearts tick, what makes their lives rich.
When I got home, my daughter Alexis and I watched a movie and ate popcorn. We laughed and joked and spent a beautiful evening together. A storm has blown in from the north bringing with it frigid temperatures and blowing snow. And there we were, mother and daughter, just the two of us, making it without trying, into a perfect evening,
It was a day of pure magic.
I am blessed.
May you be blessed today in everything you do and experience. May your heart be filled with joy, may your mind be filled with wonder, may your spirit soar.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
On the run
I don't have a post to write today. I'm in a rush and have to get to the shelter where I work, for a session with our writers group. Clients, writers and performers from the larger community have been coming together since before Christmas to create a play: A DI Wedding: The Musical which will be performed in April as part of our 50th Anniversary Celebrations.
It's been a fun process thus far. We meet once a week to talk about love, to do writing exercises or write 'scenes'. Little vignettes of prose that answer questions like, "What is Love?" "Can love awaken at a homeless shelter?" "What's your perfect first date?"
Today, we're working on our segment of In/Visible, which will happen on Wednesday as part of the High Performance Rodeo .
What fun!
And then, when we're finished with the writing group, I'm giving The Passion Test to a group of women for the afternoon.
Busy day.
Must run.
Hope you have a day of wonder!
It's been a fun process thus far. We meet once a week to talk about love, to do writing exercises or write 'scenes'. Little vignettes of prose that answer questions like, "What is Love?" "Can love awaken at a homeless shelter?" "What's your perfect first date?"
Today, we're working on our segment of In/Visible, which will happen on Wednesday as part of the High Performance Rodeo .
What fun!
And then, when we're finished with the writing group, I'm giving The Passion Test to a group of women for the afternoon.
Busy day.
Must run.
Hope you have a day of wonder!
Friday, January 7, 2011
The rational thing to do
It's 3:15 am and I am awake. Not because I want to be but, once I wake up it is always challenging for me to return to dreamland.
I had gone to bed at a decent hour. 10:30. Fallen asleep quickly and was enjoying my slumberland adventures when I heard my daughters come home just after midnight. There is something so comforting and familiar and special about hearing their voices chatting in the quiet of the sleeping house -- not that anyone was sleeping other than Ellie our Golden. Marley the Great Cat was padding around, looking for trouble. And I was obviously awake. I lay in the dark and listened to their voices, not really hearing the words, just listening to the rhythm of their speech.
And then, I checked the time and realized C.C. would be getting home from Minneapolis at any moment, may as well stay up. But then, his car pulling into the driveway didn't happen. I didn't hear his key turning in the lock. I tried his cell phone and there was no answer so I got up to check the computer to see if his flight was delayed.
My daughter, Alexis, was still up.
What are you doing? she asked, coming into the office where I was madly typing queries into the 'google' bar.
Trying to find out if C.C.'s flight was delayed.
What airline is he on? she asked.
I don't know.
Oh. What city is he flying in from?
Last I talked to him he was in Chicago and he thought he'd be in at midnight.
Have you tried calling him?
Yup. But his cell is either turned off or dead.
How are you going to find out what time he's coming in if you don't know the airline? she asked, in her painfully obvious way.
Um. Well, I've checked Air Canada. Westjet. Delta. United and none of them have a flight from Chicago still to land. I think the airport has a flight tracker. I'll try them.
And so I did and sure enough, there was a flight tracker I could query. Except, there was no flight coming in from Chicago at any time in the early hours of the morning.
Are you sure he was in Chicago? she asked, again that painfully obvious question.
Not really, I replied.
Then you can't really check on where he's at, she stated.
Ouch. If I don't know where he's flying from, how can I find out when he lands?
He did arrive home, safe and sound. At 1:30 am. Dead tired. He'd finally flown in from Spokane. His original flight out of Chicago had been cancelled and he'd been rerouted -- to Seattle and then Spokane.
And I was still up. Alexis curled up in bed with me talking about life and struggle and staying positive and self-sabotage and all the things we do to make life more difficult than it needs to be.
It was one of those special moments. One of those moments when I feel valued and honoured and oh so grateful to be the mother of these two amazing young women. So grateful for having a relationship with my daughters where they feel open and free to share, the fears, joys, trepidations, sadness and wonder of their lives.
When C.C. walked into our bedroom, the light was on and Alexis poked her head up from beneath the covers and joined me in welcoming him home.
She got out of bed, hugged him and went to her own bed as we curled up together and he shared the adventures of his day.
He fell asleep and I lay beside him. Wide awake.
Best to just get up and write. 'Cause then, I can ignore my alarm when it goes off at 5:30 am. I can keep sleeping -- in -- until 7:30.
It was the rational thing to do.
Really.
I had gone to bed at a decent hour. 10:30. Fallen asleep quickly and was enjoying my slumberland adventures when I heard my daughters come home just after midnight. There is something so comforting and familiar and special about hearing their voices chatting in the quiet of the sleeping house -- not that anyone was sleeping other than Ellie our Golden. Marley the Great Cat was padding around, looking for trouble. And I was obviously awake. I lay in the dark and listened to their voices, not really hearing the words, just listening to the rhythm of their speech.
And then, I checked the time and realized C.C. would be getting home from Minneapolis at any moment, may as well stay up. But then, his car pulling into the driveway didn't happen. I didn't hear his key turning in the lock. I tried his cell phone and there was no answer so I got up to check the computer to see if his flight was delayed.
My daughter, Alexis, was still up.
What are you doing? she asked, coming into the office where I was madly typing queries into the 'google' bar.
Trying to find out if C.C.'s flight was delayed.
What airline is he on? she asked.
I don't know.
Oh. What city is he flying in from?
Last I talked to him he was in Chicago and he thought he'd be in at midnight.
Have you tried calling him?
Yup. But his cell is either turned off or dead.
How are you going to find out what time he's coming in if you don't know the airline? she asked, in her painfully obvious way.
Um. Well, I've checked Air Canada. Westjet. Delta. United and none of them have a flight from Chicago still to land. I think the airport has a flight tracker. I'll try them.
And so I did and sure enough, there was a flight tracker I could query. Except, there was no flight coming in from Chicago at any time in the early hours of the morning.
Are you sure he was in Chicago? she asked, again that painfully obvious question.
Not really, I replied.
Then you can't really check on where he's at, she stated.
Ouch. If I don't know where he's flying from, how can I find out when he lands?
He did arrive home, safe and sound. At 1:30 am. Dead tired. He'd finally flown in from Spokane. His original flight out of Chicago had been cancelled and he'd been rerouted -- to Seattle and then Spokane.
And I was still up. Alexis curled up in bed with me talking about life and struggle and staying positive and self-sabotage and all the things we do to make life more difficult than it needs to be.
It was one of those special moments. One of those moments when I feel valued and honoured and oh so grateful to be the mother of these two amazing young women. So grateful for having a relationship with my daughters where they feel open and free to share, the fears, joys, trepidations, sadness and wonder of their lives.
When C.C. walked into our bedroom, the light was on and Alexis poked her head up from beneath the covers and joined me in welcoming him home.
She got out of bed, hugged him and went to her own bed as we curled up together and he shared the adventures of his day.
He fell asleep and I lay beside him. Wide awake.
Best to just get up and write. 'Cause then, I can ignore my alarm when it goes off at 5:30 am. I can keep sleeping -- in -- until 7:30.
It was the rational thing to do.
Really.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Let me be kind
Yesterday I commented on a blog I'd read about a mother and a daughter. This morning, JTY at Two Shoes in Texas commented and I found the source of, a) the beautiful thoughts I'd read on mother/daughter relationships; b) the inspiration for my writing yesterday; and c) a wonderful Woman of Wonder -- a real WOW. (I also found out when I'd read her post -- it was late Tuesday night. Whew! Mystery solved. Memory restored.)
In reading back through a few of JTY's posts, I found one from New Year's day that intriqued me. JTY writes about that delicate and sensitive subject, New Year's Resolutions (did you make any? have you kept them still? -- I know it's only six days into the New Year but I've already undone one of mine -- mostly because, yeah you guessed it, I forgot I made it until after I'd broken it!)
Referring to a post from Selma at Selma in the City, JTY looks at the year past from the viewpoint of the character traits that made a difference in her life throughout the year, and the ones she'd like to keep polished throughout this year.
It's an interesting viewpoint. Selma quotes Henrik Ibsen who wrote, "A community is like a ship; everyone ought to be prepared to take the helm." With kindness, compassion and tolerance of others as guiding lights, she writes, "We can get through the rough waters."
Years ago a friend asked me, "If there were one word on your headstone that completed this sentence, "She was a........ woman", what would you want it to be?"
Kind, I replied. Definitely kind.
When I look back on my year I look for where kindness has cast ripples outward, creating gentle sailing for those around me. Amidst their smooth waters I see currents where discord arose because of something I did or said. I choose forgiveness and keep moving into my heart. As I move into the moment, casting my thoughts to the year ahead, I whisper a prayer of gratitude for so many opportunities to learn and grow and make a plea for courage and strength to carry me forward. Let kindness to be my treadmark. Let kindness be my ripple effect.
From kindness, acts of courage, of compassion, or greatness evolve. Joy rises, within me and around me. Love radiates from me and through me and all around me
From kindness, I soften my heart, gentle my words and smooth my spirits journey. When I look more kindly upon myself, I see the world as a kinder place.
From kindness, I step softly into the world, conscious of where my footprints tread, conscious of the footprints I leave behind. May my footprints disturb no one with ripples of discord.
Ah but, you say. In this world, how can you tread anywhere without disturbing someone? Don't you have to be a 'yes girl' to not disturb anyone? Doesn't that make you weak?
Not when I stand true to my beliefs. To my values. Not when I express my truth, in Love, without fearing the outcome.
but... Isn't that like not leaving your mark on life? On the world? Don't you want to make a difference?
Yes. I do. Want to make a difference.
And I want my difference to be remembered in how people feel about themselves, their lives, their possibilities. Not about me.
Working at a homeless shelter I am greeted with countless opportunities everyday to be kind. To be caring. To be compassionate and tolerant and fair.
With those we serve.
Where I am not so kind and caring and compassionate and tolerant is with the people on 'the other-side of the street'. On mainstreet. The world 'out there'. With those I consider, in my judgement and not so kind viewpoint, should know better.
When we know better we do better.
And sometimes, I view some of those I meet on 'mainstreet' as lacking in the knowing they need to do better.
And sometimes, in my determination of what 'they lack', I am less than kind, less than compassionate, less than tolerant.
Hello? Who am I kidding? Who am I to criticize?
I cannot be kind with some, and not with others and think of myself as a woman of integrity. I cannot create compassion in some corners of my world and carry discord in others without jeopardizing my peace of mind. And when I am intolerant with some, including myself, I am creating a world of discord around me.
It is the 100% accountability factor.
To be a woman of integrity. To radiate joy and peace and harmony throughout my world, I must move through myself and every moment, every encounter in Love, creating a ripple effect of kindness, compassion and tolerance all around me.
It is the way to happiness. To peace of mind. To calmness of spirit and soul. It is the way.
Because, no matter how much I might think I'm fooling myself that what I am saying is 'the truth' when I speak disrespectfully of someone else or treat them with little care or thought of the impact of my words or actions, I am acting without integrity. I am not being kind.
And so, I turn the mirror back to me. I face myself in the cloudy perfection of its reflection and ask myself, Where am I not being kind to me by being unkind about or to others?
When I speak without thought, when I criticize, condemn or complain about another, when I act without integrity, my unkindness begins with me.
I do not strive for perfection. I strive to create a reflection of the values I hold to be true in my heart -- radiating Love which is perfect in all its dimensions. I strive to create a world of love and joy and beauty all around me.
And so, in everything I do, I must ask myself -- Will this create more of what I want in my life or less?
I want to feel good about me. I want to love me, exactly as I am, without chastising myself for being a perfectly imperfect human being. Without feeling less than because I tripped up, or fell down on my human doing.
I want to love myself in all I do. All I am.
Today, I choose the Way. I choose to love me, just the way I am.
To sow seeds of harmony. Rows of forgiveness and gardens of gratitude in everything I do. Everywhere I go.
And the only way I know to do that, is to be kind, compassionate and tolerant of myself and the world around me.
Nameste.
May you love yourself in all your perfectly human imperfections. May you walk lightly through your day.
In reading back through a few of JTY's posts, I found one from New Year's day that intriqued me. JTY writes about that delicate and sensitive subject, New Year's Resolutions (did you make any? have you kept them still? -- I know it's only six days into the New Year but I've already undone one of mine -- mostly because, yeah you guessed it, I forgot I made it until after I'd broken it!)
Referring to a post from Selma at Selma in the City, JTY looks at the year past from the viewpoint of the character traits that made a difference in her life throughout the year, and the ones she'd like to keep polished throughout this year.
It's an interesting viewpoint. Selma quotes Henrik Ibsen who wrote, "A community is like a ship; everyone ought to be prepared to take the helm." With kindness, compassion and tolerance of others as guiding lights, she writes, "We can get through the rough waters."
Years ago a friend asked me, "If there were one word on your headstone that completed this sentence, "She was a........ woman", what would you want it to be?"
Kind, I replied. Definitely kind.
When I look back on my year I look for where kindness has cast ripples outward, creating gentle sailing for those around me. Amidst their smooth waters I see currents where discord arose because of something I did or said. I choose forgiveness and keep moving into my heart. As I move into the moment, casting my thoughts to the year ahead, I whisper a prayer of gratitude for so many opportunities to learn and grow and make a plea for courage and strength to carry me forward. Let kindness to be my treadmark. Let kindness be my ripple effect.
From kindness, acts of courage, of compassion, or greatness evolve. Joy rises, within me and around me. Love radiates from me and through me and all around me
From kindness, I soften my heart, gentle my words and smooth my spirits journey. When I look more kindly upon myself, I see the world as a kinder place.
From kindness, I step softly into the world, conscious of where my footprints tread, conscious of the footprints I leave behind. May my footprints disturb no one with ripples of discord.
Ah but, you say. In this world, how can you tread anywhere without disturbing someone? Don't you have to be a 'yes girl' to not disturb anyone? Doesn't that make you weak?
Not when I stand true to my beliefs. To my values. Not when I express my truth, in Love, without fearing the outcome.
but... Isn't that like not leaving your mark on life? On the world? Don't you want to make a difference?
Yes. I do. Want to make a difference.
And I want my difference to be remembered in how people feel about themselves, their lives, their possibilities. Not about me.
Working at a homeless shelter I am greeted with countless opportunities everyday to be kind. To be caring. To be compassionate and tolerant and fair.
With those we serve.
Where I am not so kind and caring and compassionate and tolerant is with the people on 'the other-side of the street'. On mainstreet. The world 'out there'. With those I consider, in my judgement and not so kind viewpoint, should know better.
When we know better we do better.
And sometimes, I view some of those I meet on 'mainstreet' as lacking in the knowing they need to do better.
And sometimes, in my determination of what 'they lack', I am less than kind, less than compassionate, less than tolerant.
Hello? Who am I kidding? Who am I to criticize?
I cannot be kind with some, and not with others and think of myself as a woman of integrity. I cannot create compassion in some corners of my world and carry discord in others without jeopardizing my peace of mind. And when I am intolerant with some, including myself, I am creating a world of discord around me.
It is the 100% accountability factor.
To be a woman of integrity. To radiate joy and peace and harmony throughout my world, I must move through myself and every moment, every encounter in Love, creating a ripple effect of kindness, compassion and tolerance all around me.
It is the way to happiness. To peace of mind. To calmness of spirit and soul. It is the way.
Because, no matter how much I might think I'm fooling myself that what I am saying is 'the truth' when I speak disrespectfully of someone else or treat them with little care or thought of the impact of my words or actions, I am acting without integrity. I am not being kind.
And so, I turn the mirror back to me. I face myself in the cloudy perfection of its reflection and ask myself, Where am I not being kind to me by being unkind about or to others?
When I speak without thought, when I criticize, condemn or complain about another, when I act without integrity, my unkindness begins with me.
I do not strive for perfection. I strive to create a reflection of the values I hold to be true in my heart -- radiating Love which is perfect in all its dimensions. I strive to create a world of love and joy and beauty all around me.
And so, in everything I do, I must ask myself -- Will this create more of what I want in my life or less?
I want to feel good about me. I want to love me, exactly as I am, without chastising myself for being a perfectly imperfect human being. Without feeling less than because I tripped up, or fell down on my human doing.
I want to love myself in all I do. All I am.
Today, I choose the Way. I choose to love me, just the way I am.
To sow seeds of harmony. Rows of forgiveness and gardens of gratitude in everything I do. Everywhere I go.
And the only way I know to do that, is to be kind, compassionate and tolerant of myself and the world around me.
Nameste.
May you love yourself in all your perfectly human imperfections. May you walk lightly through your day.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Thinning out the memory banks
Yesterday, I read a beautiful piece from a mother about a conversation she shared with her daughter -- about regret and moving on and finding peace. And, if I wasn't quite so forgetful, I'd paste in the link. But I can't remember which blog I read it on! Actually, I'm not even sure it was yesterday that I read it! Could have been Monday...
And that's the problem. It's not that I'm not reading lots. It's just I can't remember what I'm reading. Unlike my waistline that appears to be getting thicker with age -- or is that calories doing it? (can't remember) -- my memory is getting thinner. It appears to be acquiring air pockets, or perhaps stress fractures or just plain old fatigue.
Go figure.
I don't remember when I first noticed it, but my memory definitely doesn't seem to be as dense as it once was. Or perhaps, it's just I am more dense and it is more porous.
Where once I could go to the grocery store with a list of ten things in my head and remember every one of them, now, three items require a list and my cell phone. Because most often, I forget to even take the list and have to call home to ask someone to read it to me. Nice thing about that strategy -- people at home often remember other things we need and I do the shopping in one trip instead of multi-little voyages. Very conversational minded, I think!
Regardless though, I'm definitely entering an era of a crisis of the memorable kind.
My memory is wearing out. Or is it me?
Is that even possible? Could it happen? That memory muscles grow lax. Grow weak and non pliable? Lose their elasticity? Nah. Impossible. My body doesn't work that way...
Ha!
Like I'm as strong and fit and agile as I was even just ten years ago. Was I once strong and fit and agile? Can't remember. But, I do recall once climbing mountains and skiing down vertical slopes at the speed of wind. Wait. It wasn't at the speed of wind. That's an exaggeration of past prowess and... me forgetting to be humble.
But, they say, (if only I could remember who 'they' are), "The mind is a muscle. Use it or lose it."
Well, I've been using my mind. Overtime. And I feel like I'm losing it anyway!
"What to do? What to do?" as my French aunts always ask. Twice. Do you think the repetition is necessary because they forgot they said it the first time?
Start writing everything down, the voice of reason pipes up.
Start keeping track of websites visited. Comments made. Organize your favourites so you can actually find things you've put in there...
All sorts of strategies exist to offset thinning mind spaces.
But, the thinness is kind of nice (it's the only part of me that appears to be getting thinner with age anyway!). And, with the thinning mind spaces, I'm thinking maybe, the past won't appear so dark and dense and the present will have more air to breathe -- and the future? Well, it won't appear on the horizon until I get there -- anyway, I always forget to worry/think/cogitate on the future before it happens so if it doesn't have room to grow in size in my memory, there's no time lost in the moment of now!
So maybe, it's not all bad.
maybe, this is just a reminder to slow down. Get in the moment. Get present.
Start, as Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh (Thây) suggests in A Guide to Walking Meditation, walking consciously in the now:
"Going is important, not arriving…Each step is life; each step is peace and joy. That is why we don’t have to hurry. That is why we slow down. We seem to move forward, but we don’t go anywhere; we are not drawn by a goal."
When I slow down, memory settles into place. I become aware of where I'm at and what I'm doing, in the now, not in the yesterday or tomorrow, but right here, right now.
When I stop looking ahead and focus on where I'm stepping, I lose sight of my destination and gain the peace and joy of being present to what is happening now.
My destination is a given. One day I will leave this world.
The present is the gift. The only place I need to remember to be to live this one wild and precious life in the rapture of now -- living it up for all I'm worth, whether I remember to pick up the milk or not.
And perhaps, it is in celebrating thinning memory muscle and thickening waistlines that I truly become present to the wonder and joy of being me in this moment right now, right here. Rightly so.
Ah bliss. I don't have to remember what to do to live my best life yet. I just have to be here, right now, living it up for all I'm worth.
And that's the problem. It's not that I'm not reading lots. It's just I can't remember what I'm reading. Unlike my waistline that appears to be getting thicker with age -- or is that calories doing it? (can't remember) -- my memory is getting thinner. It appears to be acquiring air pockets, or perhaps stress fractures or just plain old fatigue.
Go figure.
I don't remember when I first noticed it, but my memory definitely doesn't seem to be as dense as it once was. Or perhaps, it's just I am more dense and it is more porous.
Where once I could go to the grocery store with a list of ten things in my head and remember every one of them, now, three items require a list and my cell phone. Because most often, I forget to even take the list and have to call home to ask someone to read it to me. Nice thing about that strategy -- people at home often remember other things we need and I do the shopping in one trip instead of multi-little voyages. Very conversational minded, I think!
Regardless though, I'm definitely entering an era of a crisis of the memorable kind.
My memory is wearing out. Or is it me?
Is that even possible? Could it happen? That memory muscles grow lax. Grow weak and non pliable? Lose their elasticity? Nah. Impossible. My body doesn't work that way...
Ha!
Like I'm as strong and fit and agile as I was even just ten years ago. Was I once strong and fit and agile? Can't remember. But, I do recall once climbing mountains and skiing down vertical slopes at the speed of wind. Wait. It wasn't at the speed of wind. That's an exaggeration of past prowess and... me forgetting to be humble.
But, they say, (if only I could remember who 'they' are), "The mind is a muscle. Use it or lose it."
Well, I've been using my mind. Overtime. And I feel like I'm losing it anyway!
"What to do? What to do?" as my French aunts always ask. Twice. Do you think the repetition is necessary because they forgot they said it the first time?
Start writing everything down, the voice of reason pipes up.
Start keeping track of websites visited. Comments made. Organize your favourites so you can actually find things you've put in there...
All sorts of strategies exist to offset thinning mind spaces.
But, the thinness is kind of nice (it's the only part of me that appears to be getting thinner with age anyway!). And, with the thinning mind spaces, I'm thinking maybe, the past won't appear so dark and dense and the present will have more air to breathe -- and the future? Well, it won't appear on the horizon until I get there -- anyway, I always forget to worry/think/cogitate on the future before it happens so if it doesn't have room to grow in size in my memory, there's no time lost in the moment of now!
So maybe, it's not all bad.
maybe, this is just a reminder to slow down. Get in the moment. Get present.
Start, as Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh (Thây) suggests in A Guide to Walking Meditation, walking consciously in the now:
"Going is important, not arriving…Each step is life; each step is peace and joy. That is why we don’t have to hurry. That is why we slow down. We seem to move forward, but we don’t go anywhere; we are not drawn by a goal."
When I slow down, memory settles into place. I become aware of where I'm at and what I'm doing, in the now, not in the yesterday or tomorrow, but right here, right now.
When I stop looking ahead and focus on where I'm stepping, I lose sight of my destination and gain the peace and joy of being present to what is happening now.
My destination is a given. One day I will leave this world.
The present is the gift. The only place I need to remember to be to live this one wild and precious life in the rapture of now -- living it up for all I'm worth, whether I remember to pick up the milk or not.
And perhaps, it is in celebrating thinning memory muscle and thickening waistlines that I truly become present to the wonder and joy of being me in this moment right now, right here. Rightly so.
Ah bliss. I don't have to remember what to do to live my best life yet. I just have to be here, right now, living it up for all I'm worth.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
No more. (A poem)
No more.
No more, she said. No more.
Never again.
No more tears
spilling
running over
into a bucketful of sorrow
no more fears
raging
into a river of regret.
No more talk of darkness.
No more he whispered
No more.
And she believed
and stayed
in hopeful anticipation
of the promise of
forgetting
wide eyed fears
rising in the darkness
of the storm
of being loved
by him.
She stayed
holding on
desperately
to the promise of
no more anger
funnelling dark clouds
churning
no more words
flung
daggers to the heart
slicing light
into blood red
drippings
of regret.
No more talk of darkness.
And she stayed
and the winds blew
and fear rose
into the darkness
whirling
helpless
beneath the flood of terror
screaming in the night.
It was a natural
disaster
they said.
It was bound
to happen.
She stayed
too long
she should have
known
what he was capable of.
She did.
Once upon a time
know
he was capable
of loving
of sweet words
tenderly
piercing her heart
of soft gestures
drowning her senses
in his wide-eyed
wonder
of her beauty
shining
in his promises
of happily-ever-after.
And so, she waited
wide eyed
hopeful
waited for his promises
of no more
to appear
on the crimson dawn of
rose petals
strewn across the coffin
of her dreams
lips sealed
shut.
No more talk of darkness
he whispered
Forget these wide eyed fears.
and she did
forget
and talk no more
of fear
rising
in the darkness.
********************************************
It is a Carry on Tuesday and I have answered the call to write a poem based on the opening lines of the duet, All I Ask Of You from Andrew Lloyd Webber's, Phantom of the Opera.
The invitation is to use some or part or all of the lines, No more talk of darkness/Forget these wide eyed fears, within your poem or prose and then, when finished, link in at Carry on Tuesday.
Take a click on over to Carry on Tuesday and read some of the amazing offerings from the other participants that will appear today and into tomorrow. Maybe... just maybe, your wide eyed fears of writing a poem, or two, will disappear into the darkness and you will be inspired to join in the light of writing poetry! Wouldn't that be grand!
No more, she said. No more.
Never again.
No more tears
spilling
running over
into a bucketful of sorrow
no more fears
raging
into a river of regret.
No more talk of darkness.
No more he whispered
No more.
And she believed
and stayed
in hopeful anticipation
of the promise of
forgetting
wide eyed fears
rising in the darkness
of the storm
of being loved
by him.
She stayed
holding on
desperately
to the promise of
no more anger
funnelling dark clouds
churning
no more words
flung
daggers to the heart
slicing light
into blood red
drippings
of regret.
No more talk of darkness.
And she stayed
and the winds blew
and fear rose
into the darkness
whirling
helpless
beneath the flood of terror
screaming in the night.
It was a natural
disaster
they said.
It was bound
to happen.
She stayed
too long
she should have
known
what he was capable of.
She did.
Once upon a time
know
he was capable
of loving
of sweet words
tenderly
piercing her heart
of soft gestures
drowning her senses
in his wide-eyed
wonder
of her beauty
shining
in his promises
of happily-ever-after.
And so, she waited
wide eyed
hopeful
waited for his promises
of no more
to appear
on the crimson dawn of
rose petals
strewn across the coffin
of her dreams
lips sealed
shut.
No more talk of darkness
he whispered
Forget these wide eyed fears.
and she did
forget
and talk no more
of fear
rising
in the darkness.
********************************************
It is a Carry on Tuesday and I have answered the call to write a poem based on the opening lines of the duet, All I Ask Of You from Andrew Lloyd Webber's, Phantom of the Opera.
The invitation is to use some or part or all of the lines, No more talk of darkness/Forget these wide eyed fears, within your poem or prose and then, when finished, link in at Carry on Tuesday.
Take a click on over to Carry on Tuesday and read some of the amazing offerings from the other participants that will appear today and into tomorrow. Maybe... just maybe, your wide eyed fears of writing a poem, or two, will disappear into the darkness and you will be inspired to join in the light of writing poetry! Wouldn't that be grand!
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