Passion. It's in us to live.

The way you get meaning into your life is to devote yourself to loving others, devote yourself to your community around you, and devote yourself to creating something that gives you purpose and meaning. Mitch Albom

Passion.

There was a time when I thought passion was reserved for lovers. That only people involved in an intimate relationship knew what passion was.

I love it when I'm proved wrong!

Passion is what I strive to step into every day -- even on days like today when I'm tired after picking up my daughter at the airport shortly after midnight and the alarm ringing at 6am felt way too early!

Passion is the force behind my dreams. It's the energy behind getting the most out of my life, every moment of every day. It's my life source.

Passion keeps me committed to awakening every morning with a song in my heart. It lightens my spirit and drives me to courageously step forward throughout the day asking myself in every thing I do, "Does this create more of what I want in my life, or less?" Passion fires me up.

Recently, while creating a dreamchart of my "Ultimate Life", I asked myself, what can I do in this moment to inject passion into my dreams.

The answer was easy. Remind myself of my purpose -- to touch hearts and open minds to set spirits free. In a nutshell, to live an inspiring life right now.

That means, to quit looking at tomorrow as the time I'll be perfect, or have everything I want or need. It means, to stop thinking about doing it tomorrow -- but rather -- getting to it today!

When I'm passionate about me, I'm passionate about my life and everyone and everything in it. I live, breathe, exude my passion. When I'm on fire, my world lights up and I take off and soar through every moment, confident, positive, convinced in my right to claim this place, right where I'm at, as my rightful, deserving place under the sun.

When I'm passionate about me, I step into the moment of being all I'm meant to be and let go of wishful thinking, yearning and pining for a better tomorrow. When I'm passionate about me, I live in this moment being completely, absolutely committed to who I am because I know, I'm one powerful woman living the life of her dreams, right now.

Do you know your passions? Are you passionate about you? Some questions you can ask yourself to understand your passions are:

1. What do I love to do for other people?
2. What is it people tell me about me that makes me feel proud, happy, that makes my heart sing?
3. What do I do that makes time stop? Makes me lose all sense of time?
4. What do I love doing most in the world? 5. Am I happiest helping people or creating things that help people?
6. Do I have special gifts or talents that I love to share? What are they?
7. If I can't think of any special gift or talent I possess -- if I did have one, what would it be?

Sit quietly, ask yourself these questions and write down your answers. Don't judge what you write, just write down what comes to you. Let the answers flow. Don't worry about punctuation. Grammar. Spelling. Just write it down. Don't let your inner voice stifle your creativity. Flow.

Once you've completed the questions, look for the pattern in your answers. Look to find what speaks to your heart.

For me, I love to help people find their purpose, their passion, their inner beauty. I love it when people tell me I inspire them. Time stops for me when I'm writing, and painting. Anything creative makes time stand still as I immerse myself in the joy of what I'm doing. I love writing, painting, creating.

For me, I'm happiest creating things that help people, bring joy to them. I love creating words that sing to people's hearts, that ease their pain, and ignite their thinking. I love to share my writing. My words. My spirit.

See, it's easy. Go for it. Let your thoughts flow. Let your imagination soar. Get creating.

Everyone has passion. Everyone has a purpose. Everyone has dreams.

Living the life of your dreams is the gift you give yourself when you free your mind of the garbage that would keep you from being inspired by the beauty and wonder of you!

Dream big. Live large and be inspired to create the life of your dreams.

Namaste.

Staying Conscious

In Today's Daily Om article, Staying Conscious Staying Grounded in a Big City or Busy World, the first step is, 1. Live simply and live deliberately.

I read the statement and thought, "Oh, I need a cup of coffee. I'll get it deliberately." I got up from my desk and moved towards the office door with the intention of making each step count. Of noticing the rug beneath my bare feet, the feel, texture, the blister under the mound of my big toe that I got when I walked in sandals in the heat. I reached the hardwood. The feeling of each step changed. Cool, smooth, slippery.

I moved down the hall, got to the bedroom door where C.C. and Ellie still sleep. My mind leaps to thinking about brunch today with friends. "Must grab my cell phone in case she calls so that its ring doesn't awake C.C."

I go into the bedroom, all thoughts of staying conscious evaporate as I smile at Ellie curled up with C.C.

I pick up my phone from the bedside table, move back out of the room to the hallway and remember, stay conscious.

"Oh right. Make each step count."

And so it goes. In the space of five minutes, walking from my office to the kitchen and getting distracted by a side trip into the bedroom, my attention veers into oblivion with the speed of a 'pond skater' (that's of the bug varietal not the human) flitting across the water in search of lunch.

It is so not easy to stay on task when the task is 'staying conscious'.

And just to prove my point, as I was thinking of comparisons for my conscious awareness, the image of the pond skater came into my mind. I couldn't recall what they were called and got distracted again and took off in search of knowledge. Did you know those bugs that flit in dizzying squares on the surface of the water in the Northern Hemisphere -- Southerners you may not relate -- hibernate during the winter? And they can run on water at speeds of up to 1.5 m/sec? They've got many names -- water bugs, water skeeters, and Jesus bugs. Wonder who thought of that name. Must go check. No! Stay conscious.

This staying conscious is not so easy. I am in and out of being present with each moment.

I start again.

Back at my desk, I consciously think of the feel of the keys on my keyboard beneath my fingers. I hear the click. The different sounds each key makes as I press it. I move one foot from the extended leg of my chair where it was resting to the wooden box I keep beneath my desk to keep my feet elevated (I'm relatively short -- I have lots of tricks to make sitting at a regulation height desk work!). Outside the open window, I hear a crow caw. Another bird tweets. Wonder what it is? I'll just go.... No. Stay present. Right. I see a woman walking along the sidewalk on the other side of the street outside my window. I hear the sound of her shoes against the concrete. She passes from view. I stop typing and take a sip of my coffee. I listen to the sound of the foamed milk. It fizzes. Like champagne bubbles. I taste the acrid taste of coffee mixed with foamed milk. The warmth slides along my tongue, down my esophagus. I breathe deeply. Feel the air move into my body. I feel my pulse slowing. My thoughts widening.

Ahh, this is better.

Another bird sings a sweet song outside. A young woman walks by in the opposite direction of the first. She's smoking. I want to run outside and tell her. Don't do it! Stop!

My mind leaps into full motion.

Dang.

Breathe.

Slow down.

Breathe.

In.

Out.

Better.

This staying conscious takes conscious attention.

And that's only 1 part of Step 1 of 10 steps to Staying Conscious!

To find out for yourself all the other steps (I did say it wasn't easy - you'll have to do some work you know!) click HERE to read the rest of the article.

And in the meantime, I'm off to meditate and contemplate how I'm going to spend my day staying conscious!

Have a good one. It's a holiday here in Canada. Heritage Day -- time to appreciate the people and events that made our nationhood grow.

Namaste!

A dancing whale

It is a beautiful Saturday morning here. Not to hot. Not to cool. Perfect.

And, here is a beautiful video to watch. A humpback whale was caught in a fisherman's net in the Sea of Cortez when a family in a boat came upon her and saved her. After getting free, she dances in the water for an hour, showering them with joy.

Have a beautiful Saturday.

Michael Fishbach, co-founder of The Great Whale Conservancy (GWC), narrates his encounter with a young humpback whale entangled in local fishing nets.

A fellow human being

He is sitting on the floor in the middle of a mezzanine area at the mall when I see him. Backpack on the floor behind him. Elbows resting on knees. Both hands covering his ears.

He is looking down between his legs, head bowed, tucked into his shoulders.

I think for a moment he is on his cellphone. I think he's just sitting there talking.

No one seems to be bothered by him. Or notice his presence. They walk by, skirting him. Avoiding contact.

Thoughts quickly flit through my mind.

"He's okay. I shouldn't disturb him. I don't want to bother him. I'd only embarrass him, and myself, if I stop and ask he's okay."

"I don't think he's on his phone. Yes he is. No. His hands are simply covering his ears. You'd best stop."

"No. Let him be. Give him his privacy."

"There's no privacy sitting in the middle of the floor in a busy mall."

I stop, bend down. I keep my voice soft. Gentle. I touch one of his shoulders as I speak. "Excuse me sir. Are you okay?"

He doesn't move.

"Sir. Are you okay. Do you need help?"

Slowly he looks up at me. He doesn't say anything. He just looks at me.

"Is something wrong? Can I help you?" I ask.

"You tell me," he replies.

"Are you okay? Did you fall down?"

"I don't know," he mumbles.

I look around. People are walking past. No one is looking at us. I look towards the Starbucks kiosk a few feet away.

"Can I get you some water?" I ask him.

He doesn't say anything. He's gone back to holding his head. Staring at the floor.

"Wait here," I tell him. "I'm going to get you a glass of water and call for help."

I go to the Starbucks, ask one of the staff for a glass of water and to call Security. "There's a man sitting on the floor in the middle of the foyer," I tell the girl and I point over to where the man is sitting.

We both look. He is now lying sprawled out on the floor. People keep walking past and no one stops.

"Can you call Security please?" I ask. "He's in some distress." And I go back to the man and sit on the floor and wait for security.

He is unresponsive. Talking in short bursts of incoherent sentences.

I tell him my name. Ask for his.

He looks at me. Suspicious. Leary. He offers his hand. "I'm Trevor."

I take his hand and gently ask. "Have you been drinking Trevor?"

He nods his head. Up and down. "I can drink a lot," he says.

"How much have you had today?" I ask.

He doesn't answer. Shrugs his shoulders.

We sit quietly.

"I don't know what to do," he suddenly says and he starts to cry.

"Are you feeling overwhelmed?" I ask.

And he nods his head again. Up and down. Up and down.

"Breathe," I tell him. "Deep slow breaths."

He gulps in air. He's almost sobbing now.

And people keep walking by.

A security officer from the mall rides up on his bike. Parks it. Walks over to where Trevor and I are still sitting on the floor.

"Did he fall?" he asks me.

"I don't know." I tell him. "I was walking by and saw him sitting here and stopped to ask if he needed help. His name is Trevor."

"Hi Trevor," the security man says in a friendly voice. "What's happening?"

"I don't know," replies Trevor. "I don't know." And he covers his ears with his hands again and looks down at the floor.

The officer is young. Kind. Caring. He too attempts to ask questions. He too gets few answers.

He turns to me. "Anything else you can tell me? Did he fall? Do you know if he hit his head?"

"I don't know," I reply, inadvertently repeating Trevor's response. "He says he's been drinking. He's feeling overwhelmed. He was just sitting here when I came upon him. He is sweating a lot though. And he's not very clear in his speech."

"I've called EMS," says the security man.

And so the hour unfolds. A man. Lost. Frightened. Overwhelmed sits on the floor of a busy mall crying out for help.

"I don't want to fall apart," he says. "I'm so sorry for falling apart."

"It's okay to fall apart Trevor," I reply. "Sometimes, the only thing we can do is to let it fall apart so we can find the pieces we want."

He looks at me. Tears stream down his face. "You're too nice," he sobs. "Don't be so nice."

A police officer arrives. He asks if I'm with the man on the floor. Trevor looks up. "Oh no," he cries quickly. "She's not part of the problem. I am. I'm sorry to be a problem. I am so sorry."

And the police officer quickly reassures Trevor he's not a problem. We're all there just trying to find out how we can help.

EMS arrive. Trevor looks at me. "I don't want to make trouble," he says.

"You're not," I reply. "The lady from EMS just wants to help you. Can you let her?"

And I move away to make room for the EMS worker.

Another officer arrives. Asks if I can fill him in on any details. I tell him what happened.

"So you were just at the mall to shop and happened upon this guy?"

"Yes."

He smiles. "Well. Thanks for helping out. You okay?"

I smile. I don't tell him I work in a place where this kind of thing happens every day. I smile and tell him I'm okay. "I hope Trevor is too."

The officer nods his head. "That's our job," he says and smiles again. "You're job's done here."

"Yes it is," I reply and walk away leaving Trevor and those who could help him to do their job.

Life's like that. We are on a journey, goal, destination in clear sight when something unexpected appears on our path. I had gone to the mall to get a prescription filled at the drug store. I was walking back to my car when I happened upon Trevor sitting on the floor.

I couldn't just walk by and leave him. I had to stand in until help arrived. And maybe, sitting on that floor was the best thing Trevor could do in that moment. Maybe, sitting on the floor is his next step to getting help for whatever it is that is overwhelming him today. Maybe, my stepping in was what he needed to get out of the dark space he was lost in.

"What do you see when you see me?" he asked at one point.

"I see a fellow human being in distress," I replied.

His eyes went wide. "You see me," he whispered and he started to cry and my heart cried with him.

Dandelions are free

Taken from my Iphone

You have to decide if you're going to wilt like a daisy or if you're just going to go forward and live the life that you've been granted. Kevin Costner

Dusk was gathering on the horizon when Ellie and I headed out for our evening walk. The air was fresh and cool. A storm had blown through hours before and rain still lay in glistening puddles on the sidewalk. The grass was wet, the river wend its way lazily along the valley bottom, a giant liquid snake moving slowly through the greenery below.

We passed walkers and gawkers, children playing ball, a couple sitting on a bench immersed in the pools of eachother's eyes. We passed a family packing up from a late evening barbecue, a group of young men playing touch football, two girls rollerblading.

The air was velvety cool against my skin. The sky was golden mixed with warm summer blues streaked with clouds tinged in evening hues of rose and purple and amber.

I walked and let Ellie pull on the leash as my mind wandered, my eyes soaking up the view, my thoughts drifting effortlessly like the river below.

Sometimes, to get the most out of life the only thing you can do is savour it, just as it is. No pushing or pulling, no need to tweak or adjust. The only need is to savour. To be present in the moment. To let each breath roll across the tongue, in and out and in and out. To let the sounds of life play joyously on your heartstrings. To let it all in. Completely. And let it all out. Completely.

No need to hold on. To grasp. To yearn. No need to want.

You only need to let it be.

And in that moment of letting it be, just the way it is, life unfolds, just the way it is.

I have a friend who has all the money she will ever need who feels an unidentifiable anger bruising her world with its unsettling quest to steal her peace of mind.

Maybe it's because you have so much and there are so many in the world with so little, I suggested.

If that were the case I'd just give it all away, she replied. Which in many instances she does.

But giving it all away will take away the one thing money gives her -- a sense of safety. I know I'm safe when I have limitless money in the bank, she said. This friend has worked hard for her money. And she continues to do so while remaining one of the most generous and giving people I know.

It's not about the money, we agreed. It's about what money can't do. It can end, 'poverty', but it can't end suffering. It can change the state of the human condition in the world, but it can't change the human condition. It can change our state of being present in the world, but it can't change our state of mind, our being who we are, our being human.

Only we can do that.

Only we have that choice.

To change.

To grow.

To evolve.

To quit wilting like daisies and start growing like weeds. Up through the cracks. Shaking off pesticides and dirt and all attempts to kill us off.

You gotta love the dandelion. It is resilient. Persistent. Stalwart. It grows in spite of every attempt we make to rid our world of its presence.

The dandelion knows who it is. It believes in the purpose of its presence in this world. And it doesn't relent.

From tiny seed to yellow stemmed flower to delicate puff, the dandelion does what it does best no matter its environment. It grows and grows and grows because it knows, this is the life it's been granted.

Best savour each moment and fill each facet of our being with beauty.

Namaste.

Lows are not the blues

It isn't often I wake up feeling tired, or even that I move through my day feeling de-energized or sluggish. But, a toothache and a cold will do that to me. And that's what's happened over the past week.

A cold I couldn't shake.
A toothache that won't abate.

And I'm a poet and my feet sure show it... they're Longfellows! :)

haha -- isn't it nice to know my sense of the 'funny' hasn't vanished with my foggy thinking.

But seriously, I don't like feeling rundown, or out of sorts. Yet, sometimes, it's the only way my body knows to get my attention. To run me down.

Going full tilt, not taking care of 'me', not paying attention to the details of my life is always a sure sign I'm off-balance. And sometimes, the only way to get back into balance is to stop, assess, regroup and recalibrate.

In The Power of Story, Jim Loehr writes,

"Story is everywhere. Your body tells a story. The smile or frown on your face,
your shoulders thrust back in confidence or slumped roundly in despair, the
liveliness or fatigue in your gait, the sparkle of hope and joy in your eyes or
the blank stare, your fitness, the size of your gut, the tone and strength of
your physical being, your overall presentation--those are all part of your
story, one that's especially apparent to everyone else... What's your story
about your physical self? does it truly work for you? Can it take you where you
want to go in the short term? How about ten years from now? What about thirty?"

Loehr goes on to invite readers to investigate their story and ask whether or not you're willing to die with 'this story' because, as Loehr writes, "like it or not, there will be a story around your death. What will it be?"

An exercise I did long ago as part of a writer's workshop was to write my epitaph. Not an easy task. To write as if someone I love is speaking of me at my funeral. What will they say? How will I be remembered?

In this place of low energy, it is daunting to think what people will say if 'this' were my story.

In reality, 'this', this moment right now, is not 'my story'. It's part of my story. Part of this journey, but it's not the whole trip.

Just like being in an abusive relationship was not my 'whole story'. It is was five year segment of a rich and vibrant life, a moment in time. Not the whole story.

Yet still, I grate against this place where I feel low. I struggle to just take time for me. To take care of me. I struggle against this niggling doubt that I'm not just faking it. Or that, this will be me for time to come.

I'm not blue. I'm just low -- and maybe the big struggle for me is to acknowledge I'm tired, not blue and need to take care of me if I am to take care of others.

Perhaps it's that I work in a place where getting sick is not acceptable, I struggle to give into the feeling low and drag myself around at half energy, doing nothing well and everything else but taking care of me. I asked C.C. last night if I was 'less than' because I felt so crummy in an undefined way and wanted to stay in bed for a day. His reply was reassuring. No. It's just your conscience talking back, he said.

So, I'm giving my conscience a break and giving myself a much needed rest. It's back to bed. I've a dentist appointment to take care of my tooth and a commitment to take care of me. What more do I need!

Namaste.

Taking care

Photo, Swing Boats © Georgios Alexandris courtesy of Dreamtime. Used with permission.

They sat, side by side,
in boats of yore,
two erstwhile travellers
sailing across the sea.

They were five and six. Two sisters. Almost identical in look. Eighteen months apart in age.

They sat, each to a swing. Side by side.

The swings were at Heritage Park, a historical village in the city that depicts "How the West Was Once' on the prairies long before concrete towers and paved parking lots replaced prairie grass and buffalo.

The swings were wooden boats suspended from a wooden frame, painted blue and red and gold. The boats creaked as I stood between them pushing one and then the other. One and then the other.

Higher! Higher! cried one little girl.

Not too high, cried the other.

The younger one stood up. Arms spread wide to either side, she leaned out beyond the 'helm' of the boat. "Look at me! Look at me!" she called out, smile beaming, hair streaming around her face.

"Be careful!" called her sister. She reached out one hand from where she sat as if to stop her. she kept her butt firmly planted on the wood seat of the swing. "Mum! Make her stop. She'll get hurt."

I smiled. "It's ok, honey. She's having fun."

A woman approached me, small child in tow, tiny hand gripped firmly in her protective grasp. The child minced her steps to keep up to her mother.

"Do you have to use both swings?" she asked. "My daughter would like to use one."

Surprised, I stopped pushing. Liseanne, my youngest daughter, the one taken to living dangerously by swinging high, sat down quickly.

"We're just leaving," Alexis, my eldest daughter of sound mind and cautious feet, piped up.

"We are?" asked Liseanne.

"Yes," replied her sister. "We've swung long enough."

We went to the bakery after that. Bought a loaf of delicious sour dough bread. The girls ate the crust and left the insides. They always did that at Heritage Park.

We ran through the fields. Rolled down hillsides. Stopped and watched cattle graze. A horse drawn carriage ride. A turn on the Ferris wheel, circa 1880. We wandered through turn of the century houses. Crystal glasses set beside china plates on a lacy tablecloth, waiting through the years as if the family would be returning from across the centuries any moment now. We sat in tiny wooden desks in a one room school house, admired an original Ford, ate an ice cream cone in the Parlour of the Beer Hall where cowboys once plunked a dime upon the counter and ordered up a brew and girls danced in flouncy skirts and feathered headpieces to the tinny sounds of an upright piano.

And when the day was done, tired and replete, we climbed into the car and drove home. We laughed and chatted over dinner, the girls bickering as they often did over who's turn it was to clear the table, scrape the plates, load the dishwahser, empty the garbage, feed the dog.

I listened as I tidied up, letting them negotiate their own way to common ground in their chores.

"I cleared the table last night," said one.

"But, I helped mom unload the dishwasher," said the other.

Silence.

I waited to hear what would be the next point of negotiation.

"But you made me get off the swing today before I was ready," said the youngest. "You should have to clear the table to make it up to me."

"The little girl wanted to use it," replied her sister.

"Then you should have given her your swing," said Liseanne.

"I didn't want you to get hurt," replied Alexis. She turned towards where I had retreated to watch them from the chair in my tiny office alcove off the kitchen. "Mom." she said in her sternest voice. "You have to take better care of us. You can't let Liseanne just do what she wants. She could have fallen off the swing today."

"But I didn't!" said Liseanne.

"Well, you might have if I hadn't made you stop," said her big sister. She came and stood in front of me. Big brown eyes wide. A serious expression on her face. She looked me in the eyes. "You've got to take better care of her mom. She could get hurt."

And I wrapped my arms around my eldest daughter's shoulders and held her close. "I would give the world to never let either of you get hurt." I told her, holding tight. "But I can't promise that you won't. Get hurt. Life does that sometimes. Hurts us. That's why we've got to love each other with all our hearts. So the hurts don't hurt so bad."

She put her tiny arms around my neck. "I love you."

"I love you too."

And from across the room her sister came running, full speed ahead, arms wide, hair streaming behind her, smile wide upon her face. Laughing, she threw her body toward where Alexis and I hugged and landed on her sister's back.

"Awww! That hurt!" cried Alexis.

"No it didn't" replied Liseanne as she wrapped her arms around her sister and hugged her. "I love you."

"I love you too," said her sister.

"I love you both," I said, holding my daughters in my arms.

"It still hurt," said Alexis.

"No it didn't," replied Liseanne.

"Yes it did."

"No..."

"Stop," I laughed. "It's bath time."

And off we traipsed to the bathroom where sailing boats and foreign seas hid amidst bubbles and laughter.

********************************

It's another Blog Carnival Tuesday over at Peter Pollock's place.

One word prompt. Write a story. A poem. a verse.

Today's word is "Swing". And you're invited to play, or just read...

Sail on over to Peter's place and check out the other treasures writers from across the globe have left for you to enjoy!