What Matters

If they can make penicillin out of moldy bread, they can sure make something out of you.  -- Muhammad Ali 

I don't know about you, but there are days when I feel like that piece of moldy bread -- non-digestible and non-appealing. It's nice on those days to remind myself.... I am good for something!

Working on my own, working from my home office, is challenging. I am out of practice. Out of the habit of structuring my day around being proactive, being constructive, being trusting in what is unfolding before me. Working at a homeless shelter for almost six years, I became accustomed to crisis. I learned to not trust my calendar because there would always be a demand that caused me to shift timetables, change agendas to meet the latest,  'we need it yesterday' demands of those around me.

Being in this place of the peaceful unfolding of my day is unnerving.

I am learning I need to unlearn aspects of my day.

Like honouring my writing time.

I have made a commitment to write for two hours everyday. Thus far, I've met that commitment. Sort of. But what I haven't done is to honour the time period I said I would set to write in.

Time to get honest with myself, to get real with my agenda and get on with creating more of what I want in my life.

Which brings me to the things I can do today to create more of what I want in my life everyday -- moving through matter to body to mind to soul to spirit and exercising each of them to the best of my ability, on all levels of my being.

Because Spirit matters. Body matters. Mind matters. Soul matters.

And none of them matter much if I don't engage all matter in the enlightenment of my journey.

To give you an idea of what this looks like, and how simple it can be to create balance, here's a list of  things I will do today (and everyday) to keep my being integrated on all levels that matter.

1. Meditate for a minimum of 20 minutes.  Practice my ACIM. (Spirit)

2. Read something inspirational. Write in my journal. Write in my daily time block. (Mind)

3. Go for a one hour walk with Ellie and take my vitamins. (Body)

4. Do something for my community (and that includes writing my blogs as you are part of my community). (Soul)

Some days I may feel like a piece of moldy bread, but no matter how I feel, I can always make something of my day by taking care of what matters for my Body. Mind. Soul. Spirit.-- in an integrated, holistic fashion that recognizes I cannot do one and not the other and still expect my life to feel in balance.

Namaste.

She does it her way.

I remember this day 24 years ago. It was a Saturday. My then husband and I were just finishing the touch-up painting on the walls of the room that would become our eldest daughter's new bedroom. The arrival of her sibling was expected in two weeks but as I tidied up the paint supplies I realized the newborn might have a plan of their own. They might want to do this their way.

And she did. Do it her way.

And she does. Do it her way.

And she is. Amazing.

Twenty-four years ago on this day, at 10:16pm, Liseanne came into this world her way -- on her schedule, even while I was sleeping. The birth was by C-section and because there was a nurse's strike on, I could not be awake for the taking her from my womb part of her arrival into this world.

I may have slept through her birth but believe me, there has been no time to sleep through her presence in this world.

Liseanne does life her way and that means, sometimes, I spend my time worrying about where she is, what she's doing, what's happening in her life.

And I needn't. Worry.

She may do life on her terms, but they are always terms of endearment. Of love. Of beauty. Of truth and honest. Humility and respect.

Even as a child, Liseanne cared deeply about her fellow inhabitants on planet earth. From earth worms to sky-rockets, Liseanne wanted to know everything about what was happening, why it was happening and what could she do to make it happen, better, kinder, more caring.

At school, Liseanne was the protectress of the under-dog, the defender of human rights. She stood up to bullies, to teachers, to authority. She stood up for what was right, just, equal. "It isn't fair," became her mantra. "The teacher shouldn't have picked on that girl, mom," a common refrain when I was called to the school to pick her up early after 'speaking back' to the teacher. Again.

"I want my daughters' to have strong voices," I told the Principal. "I want them to stand up for what is right and not be silent in the face of abuse. And what better place to practice their voice than in school?"

"She needs to respect the teachers," the 'authority figure' replied.

"How she treats people is a reflection of who she is because how she treats people is a measurement of her, not them," I replied. "However, respecting them is another matter. And when they behave in ways that are cruel, that cause other people harm, it isn't about her respecting them. It is about her finding ways to express her responses respectfully. She does not need to respect anyone, however, who treats others with less than respect."

It was an oft repeated discussion. With my daughters. And those in authority. Liseanne always stood up for the underdog, for those who were being taken advantage of, for those who were being picked on. And it always got her in trouble at school.

She has a voice and she uses it.

It is her way.

To stand firm when others would bend. To speak up when others would fall silent. To listen when others would cry. To feel when others would hurt.

It is her way.

And I am so blessed to celebrate  24 years of Liseanne's way of living life on her terms. With passion, flare, laughter and Love.

Happy Birthday my darling daughter.

May you always live life your way.

A Long Weekend Retreat

I'm taking a 'long weekend retreat' and keeping my mind peaceful. See you Monday!

My mind is peaceful.

In this moment right now, my mind is peaceful, my heart is grateful.

I wrote those words this morning in my journal and let their truth emanate throughout my being.

I love moments of clarity. Moments where the busy, busy noise-making chaos of the world subsides and I am alone with just the truth of the moment shining in my heart.

My mind is peaceful, my heart is grateful.

They don't come often, those moments of grace. At least, they don't come so often that when I feel like I imagine a Buddhist monk feels kneeling in front of butter pots praying, I want to get up and dance. Which of course, would defeat the purpose of my blissful state of being one with the moment -- to get into action.

It is the challenge of my existence, this wanting/needing to be 'in action' at all times.

Which is why meditation is so powerful for me. Channeling the energy, of which I have copious and it appears at times limitless amounts, into stillness.

Dance does help. At my dance group on Monday night I felt the shifts and nudges and movement of what was flowing out as I embraced what is and became one with the dance, with the movement of being alive in that very moment, just the way I was. Right where I was.

I felt it last night as well in meditation. That space of knowing, of clarity, of being One with the One. The past does not exist, it is only empty space the One said and I knew it to be true. The past is only a construct of my mind. It exists only in the one dimensional construct of space and time within my memory. And memory has been known to be faulty. It has been known to make mistakes. To reconstruct what was to fit my vision of what is today.

Take my memory and one of my sister's memory's of when I was a child. "You always faked being sick to get out of going to school," she laughingly said one day several years ago.

I was surprised. I do not remember ever faking being sick and I do not remember ever not wanting to go to school. In my memory of the past, I loved going to school. I loved learning and playing with friends and being 'useful' in the world. Plus, school got me out of the house -- and I liked that!

But there we were, both of us with different memories of the same events.

Neither of us right. Neither of us wrong. Because, today, there is no purpose, or need for those memories of what was or maybe was, or wasn't or maybe wasn't.

There is only need of what is real and true right now, right here, in this moment.

If a memory hurts you, let it go.

A therapist told me that once and I looked at them as if they were nuts and said, "But I can't." (Actually, I think I might have said something more along the lines of "Don't be ridiculous. That's impossible." -- but then, memory does like us to look better in the past so that we can hold onto the thought of who we'd have liked to have been, or behaved, or said or done.)

And my therapist eplied, "Memory is always our choice. We may not be able to choose what happens in our world today, but how we remember what did happen is always our choice."

I remember a time when I fell in love with a man who abused me. I remember those days and surround the memories in Love. In gratitude. Not for what he did. No. I am not grateful for what he did. I am grateful for where I am today. For who and how I am today for it is through those experiences I got here.

And when I am moving too fast to be still, I know it is me, just me, running from what I need to embrace, to sit still within and let be for as long as it needs to be.

I know that in my running from, I am escaping to a place where I do not have to be present in the moment of being me.

This morning, my mind is peaceful and my heart is grateful.

I am not running.

I am being. Present. Right now. In Love.

Visions and other magic

Your vision is the promise of what you shall one day be; your ideal is the prophecy of what you shall at last unveil.   James Allen

I met with my business partner last night. We spent time visioning and creating maps of what the future could/will/can look like.

Putting it down on paper gives clarity to vision.

We talked about dreams and mind-mapped and shared our belief and our fears, about what we can do, together and apart when we are focused on 'the value we bring to the world.'

Another friend dropped by and said -- I get that what you both can do is amazing. What I see is a lack of focus.

And we focused, because our friend was right. We were avoiding articulating our value to the world.

"What's the pain you address?" our friend asked.

And we pondered and meditated and doodled some more.

The pain of how our sad stories keep us from living the life, having the success, being the one's we've always dreamed of, we replied.

And so, an idea grew, a dream awoke, a vision clarified and we are on the path to creating that which we dream of -- a world where stories enable people, no matter where they stand on the corporate ladder, no matter where they hang their hat, to live their dreams, fearlessly, joyfully and freely.

It was an evening of creativity. An evening where my spirit felt the wings of hope fluttering gracefully in the mind-space of possibility.

It was an opening. A doorway. An expansion.

It was, exciting and fun and challenging. It was pure magic and this morning I awoke feeling invigorated, excited and happy!

My partner is one of the most courageous people I know. When faced with questions that probe the darkness, she steps into the light, illuminating her truth without fear of the shadows lurking behind the next answer.

She is fearless and I am blessed to be in this partnership where we can both express our true selves without fear of criticism, judgment or ridicule. A place where both our voices are heard, all our perspectives honoured.

What a blessing.

This is what 'business' should feel like.

Now, to get out there into the world, and create what we envisioned!

Marching Bands and other music of life

My father loved music. All of it. From Big Band to Marching Band to Rock 'n Roll, my father loved music, and he never tired of sharing what he loved.

When guests would come he'd put on Big Band favourites and the house would groove to the trumpets and saxophones and smooth notes of Benny Goodman and Glenn Miller and Mel Torme. Sometimes, he'd ease into light jazz and rhythms like Herb Albert and his Tijuana Brass or Louis Armstrong. Sunday mornings he'd put on marching bands and the house would awaken to the pounding timpani of bagpipes and bass drums marching through the walls.

And my father would laugh and call out, "The early bird catches the worm, time to get up sleepy heads." And we'd get up to the smell of bacon and eggs and toast laid out on the dining room table as the Marching Bands shifted to nasal twang of a country crooner or Ravi Shankar's sitar which he loved to play just to bug my mother. "It's your heritage, Iris," he'd insist when she asked him to please turn that noise off. "No it's not," my mother would reply. "I was born in India but I'm French."

My father loved my mother and would turn off the Sitar but not the music. He loved music too much to ever turn it off.

It is a love my siblings and I share today. When my brother was alive he had a favourite game he insisted everyone play, "Name that tune." It didn't matter if I was in the same room or three thousand miles away. He'd call out, or phone me and say, "Listen to this!" and he'd play a few notes, and I mean just a few notes, of a song and ask me to "Name that tune".

I wasn't very good at it, the game of naming tunes. I must be a slow listener because it always took me more time than tune to figure out the name. And don't ask me, 'Who sang that?" I wasn't good at naming singers either.

But I loved the music. Still do. Though  my tastes are not as far-stretching or eclectic as my father and my brother's were. From African drums to East Indian Sitar to Native American chanting, my father and brother held music in awe. They breathed it and it breathed life into them. With music they were animated. With music they sang, even though both were tone deaf.

I remember standing beside my brother in many a Christmas Eve mass, trying to stay on tune as we sang Christmas carols and my brother belted out at the top of his off-key lungs every single word. "It doesn't matter if I'm out of tune," he'd insist. "It's the music. I gotta be part of the music."

My father seldom came to Midnight Mass so hearing him sing was never an issue.

Though I'd have liked to, hear him sing. It was something he didn't do much of in life. Sing. Life was too busy, too serious, too tight and wound up for him to sing. And anyway, as he liked to say, he didn't need to sing. There were those who did it for him far better than he ever could, because, no matter the mood or the occasion, there was a song to fit your every mood on one of the two-thousand plus albums that filled the bookcases of our home.

He had them all alphabetized. By category. To find a specific album, or even song, all you had to do was flip through the pages of one of the blue binders that sat on a shelf in the living room. He'd typed up those pages. Typed ever single album title, genre, artist and song for easy reference. He was an iTunes library long before digital recording ever became the state of the art.

My father and brother are both gone from this world. Their last breaths taken only their song of their love of music remains.

And I am grateful. Time has marched on from those days when my father and brother fought over which song to play, or who named that tune and still, the music fills my world. Under the spell of its melodious call, it fills my heart with the memory of these two men who once breathed their love of music into me.

Namaste.

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It is another Blog Tuesday Carnival over at Peter Pollock's. Today's one word prompt is "Marching".

You can participate, or just come along for the ride and read the stories other's have contributed to today's One Word Blog Tuesday Carnival.  Just click HERE and you'll find the links to take you on a magic carpet ride marching before your eyes. 

Just take my hand, because, as one of my brother's favourites liked to sing, There's a place for us. Somewhere a place for us.....

Being the me I want to be

You have to make mistakes to find out who you aren't. You take the action, and the insight follows: You don't think your way into becoming yourself. ~ Anne Lamott ~

There have been many times in my life when I didn't think I was living my true self. When I believed I needed to be more me, less who others think I should be.

And I thought and I thought, and mostly, my thinking depressed me because in my thinking was the fear -- I can't do it. It's too big a task to change not being me into being me when I don't know who I am -- I didn't say my thinking was clear. I just said I thought a lot about not being me!

Everyday I am presented with opportunities to 'not be me'. From little one's like, choosing to not pick up the dog's deposits (which I always do), to big one's, like stealing (which I can't do), there are numerous opportunities in the world to play dirty, be small, be unethical.

Choosing to do the right thing is a matter of choice. It is taking those actions that state -- this is who I want to be. This is who I am. This is the imprint I want to make on the world.

To not clean up dog poop would be a statement of not caring about the other people who use the park and pathways where we walk. It would be a statement of not caring about my community, or being a responsible dog-owner.

And I don't want to be someone who doesn't care, so I choose actions that build my 'me' muscle in ways that strengthen the values I stand for and thus, embed within me a deeper understanding of who I am within me and within the world around me.

Sometimes, I'll make mistakes. Like forgetting I made a commitment and double-booking, or not paying a parking ticket on-time and having to pay triple its cost when I go to renew my license (which just happened). I sure learned from that one that the me I'd rather be is the one who a) doesn't get parking tickets, and b) if she does, pays them right away.

I want to be someone who takes care of the details of her life so that I am free to live my life without lingering anxieties over what I've done, or haven't done, undermining my enjoyment of being fully present in the now.

And in the moments where my mistakes trip me up, my actions need to be firmly planted in the belief that it's never too late to learn, it's never too late to do the right thing now, it's never too late for second chances or to be my best.

To live in the now I want to be who I am, not who I don't want to be. I need to take care of the details that would keep me from enjoying the now. I need to embrace in everything I do and say, living a life based on who I want to be, my values and principles intact, my wonder and awe of life shining through every breath I take.

Namaste.