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Ten Thousand Days

Ten Thousand Days

Paddle

August 28, 2017

Photo: Aaron Burden

Gratitude, Joy, Oneness, Service, Purpose and Meaning (Day 1075 – 1103)

I have found that the overwhelming task of re-orienting to life after the fire can sometimes cause me to panic.  After the young man threw a bomb into our relationship, I learned that one of the things we do when we are caught in our grief and cannot move out of it is to search for the lost person everywhere and to try to re-establish order.  I remember when my mother died, I would go to pick up the phone to call her, or set an extra place at the dinner table and I would think I saw her face in a crowd.

I’ve been searching since the fire ritual, and I’m working to just get dead calm like a still day on the ocean.  As I try to adjust to being just the space between the ashes of who I once was, I have been searching for what will come next.  Even as I bury the babies and I cry my tears for what has died, I have been searching.  I have been trying to put my life back together and try on new lives like new sets of clothes.  Nothing seems to fit.

And then I remember that in re-birth, just as in birth, we are in the water, alone and naked.  This vulnerable time is a necessary part of real transformation.

The only thing that calms me is a return to the ocean.  Yes, early on I started walking by the sea.  That is still enjoyable for me but I’ve learned, in this process, that I love to be on the water, or in the water.  I can’t afford to sail, so I’ve taken up sea kayaking.  And I do it as often as I can.

When I was a child, I was a long distance swimmer.  For me, the constant repetition of the stroke and the breath was a meditation.  Life was not always easy for me, as the youngest sibling whose older sisters often resented her presence and bullied her, as siblings do.  But swimming, I was free.  I swam for hours and because my sisters would hold my head under water at the public pool to taunt me, I grew stronger from the constant practice of breath, stroke, breath, stroke, treading water and holding my breath.  I stayed calm in a world that was turbulent for me.

 

The young man is going through a similar process of trying on lives, and I saw him recently.  He told me that “I have time” to figure it all out.  While we share this in common, and that is a comfort, I am the only one of us who can see life from both sides of the age gap.  I have been where he is in life. But where I am – that is a place he cannot yet know.  I am alone, trying to fathom its depths.

At times, I feel quite lonely, here.

I think it was Soren Kierkegard who said that “Life can only be understood backwardsbut it must be lived forwards.”  And even as I paddle, I know that I can’t know what is ahead of me but I can know what is behind me and yet, life is flowing.  We can never go back to a point that has flowed past us.

For a long time after the ending of our relationship, I tried to make sense of things.  After 7 months, I came upon one thought that I had never thought and only then did the pieces come together.  Having the pieces come together, however, does not make the fact of the situation any easier to bear.  When things hurt, understanding why they hurt doesn’t take away the sting.  All it does is put the mind to rest, and possibly provide insights for what can be expected, going forward. It doesn’t change anything.

I’ve seen him and I’ve talked to him and I feel strange.  There are just so many emotions that run the gamut from ease to sadness to a distant observation of what is.  I’ve been in this place before and it is very internal and intimate and I wouldn’t want to describe all that is going on – to him or to anyone else.  Something has died and I’m watching “what is,” with detachment.  This won’t last, but I am surprised by my lack of desire to rush in and re-order the universe.  What is, is.  What the meaning in it is – well – maybe I’ll only know in a year or 10 or 20 or at the end of my life.  Or maybe I will never know.  And maybe it doesn’t even matter.

Perhaps this is wisdom – the ability to let things be what they are and just be the observer, adjusting the rudder and accepting the tide.

I’m sure that, in time, I will get caught up in the future or the past or be somehow out of the present moment.  But for this brief window of time, I am so incredibly present in the moment, and I am grateful for that gift.

I panic about my own future when I look to buy a home and see prices rising 4% a month and I wonder how soon I will be completely priced out of the market.  And then I paddle.  And I wonder if this is where I’m meant to be.  If life is like paddling against the tide all the time, perhaps its time to stop and float and see where the current is directing life.

I am not good at just being. But I am grateful for the discovery of how calming and central to my rebirth the kayak has become.  Like lifestyles, not all kayaks are the same.  Some are meant for long ocean tours and some for whitewater paddling.  Some are meant for lakes and rivers.  Some have long and narrow bows and some are wider and each one has its own ease of entry and exit for the individual.  No kayak is good for all weather and conditions and so we must choose wisely and we must know what is most important to us.

I spent the day with a friend that I’ve known all of my adult life.  I wondered why it is that as we get older, our energy gets less directed at the big issues in the world and we become more tender and focused on our own little world.  The young man might call this “small mindedness.”  I know that I am one of the most broad minded people I know.  And yet, I no longer have the energy to fight the system.  I know that true influence comes from within.  Like any ecosystem, we are all connected.  And it is the understanding of this Oneness that makes me want to focus inward, at this point in my life.  The change I want to see in the world must begin with me.  If I change, it all changes.

And with every stroke I take as I kayak out against the tide, I know that I am fighting a losing battle.  The best we can do in a kayak is to use our paddle and our rudder to work with the flow of the currents and tides and get into the flow of the whole-body stroke to reach our destination with ease.  When I am racing, and paddling so hard against the tide, I miss the heron and the seals and the ravens and eagles that populate the coast.  When I am gentle with myself, my course, and when I  allow whatever time is required to reach my destination, with ease, there is joy in the journey.

I am doing some very deep inner work at the moment and I am grateful for this moment and the transformation that is in process.  I have no energy to paddle against the tide.  But the changes I make within myself may be the most powerful impact I can have in the world.  Changing myself and letting go of at least a layer of ego, holding the light of my soul shining – that is the greatest service I can do for the world though there will be no accolades or worldly appreciation for this.  But the forest knows when I sing to her and the waters know when I am there.

I don’t know what will fill this space that has been left by the death of so many things. But, I trust that the Divine does.  I hope that it will be a new understanding of what is important in life in order to live a meaningful and purposeful life.  Although I can find calm when the storm gets too turbulent, I feel quite lonely in both the eye of the hurricane and when I am spinning at its whim.  This is not the loneliness of lack of friendship.  This is the loneliness of being in a place in life that few have been.

I am in my own kind of wilderness.  This is my postcard to you.

 

Photo: Noah Rosenfield

 

For what are you most grateful, today?

Ten Thousand Days

After the Fire

August 9, 2017

Photo: Yosh Ginsu

Gratitude, Joy, Oneness, Service, Purpose and Meaning (Day 1046 – Day 1074)

In the Vedic tradition, it is the mendicant who burns away all worldly attachments in the fire – they renounce all their possessions, their family and friends and even give up their identity, in order to take the most direct route to enlightenment.  Nothing is spared and all goes into the fire to purify the soul.   In the Vedic tradition all who die are burned so that all that is left is ash.  In the Christian tradition  this concept of ashes to ashes prevails,  recognizing that when all is said and done, we are all just dust in the wind.  In the mystic tradition to which I belong, one must die before dying – to give up all worldly attachments because it is all our worldly attachments that anchor us here and keep us from being able to reach the spiritual consciousness that a mystic seeks.

In many cultures, then, there is the idea of a fire ritual.  We can walk on fire to prove that we are able to overcome any obstacle.  Or, we can throw into a fire all the attachments to things that hold us back.  Most of us, however, if we are asked to pick and choose, will only throw into the fire those things that we no longer want to hold us back.

And it is the task of many spiritual teachers to help those on the path to throw not only the things we believe hold us back but also all those things we hold dear.

Two months ago I attended a fire ritual of purification.  It was a noble idea.   What I had neglected, however, was to consider that I have a mystic as a teacher.

I haven’t written much lately because I have been going through at the hands of the energetic transmission of the teacher is the first phase of a tranformation at the soul level and these experiences are ineffable.  I have been destroyed, from within.  Trying to describe this may sound very weird, so I turn to symbolic language because it is at that collective unconsciousness from which our symbols come, that we can feel as One.

In the past 8 weeks, it has not only been the things that I feel are in my way that have fallen out of my life – sometimes quietly and sometimes spectacularly – but my most cherished dreams, my deepest love, and my hopes for my identity.

All have been burned, and I am ash.

I had a dream about a woman who was covered by her teacher in ash.  It was only after the fire that she could have access to the magical forest that awaited her and there she found strange and mysterious fruit.

What will be my strange and mysterious fruit?

I don’t know what is going to come after the fire.  This time in my life – since I committed to the fire ritual last October – has been one of the greatest times of loss in my life.  I have had to watch it all burn, whether I wanted it to go or not.

When life falls apart, I think it is human nature to rely on the ego: I can fix this, I can work this out, how come this happened? What can I do to make this work?  And it is in this rush of ego, the drive to return to normality that some of the deepest grief occurs.

 

It is holding on that hurts us.

 

The Phoenix is a symbol for resurrection from the ash.  I don’t feel like a Phoenix. Spirituality takes us upward, like the Phoenix, to the heavens and to the bliss of Oneness of Creation.  The work of the soul, the work of the mystic, is first to walk through the fire and die.

The two month window I mentioned in my last post has passed with the full moon lunar eclipse, yesterday.  I feel like ash…or perhaps more acurately, like the disparate collection of empty spaces between the ashes that once held me together.

I am incredibly vulnerable and I feel like I have 3rd degree burns all over my body.  I am sensitive to everything.  And so, I continue to keep myself secluded, and I tend to my tomatoes, with love, and I sing to the forest, and I go out and kayak to keep me from losing all hope.

And, in the quiet hours, I pray and I listen.  And I wait.  This is where faith gets tested.

It’s easy to be grateful for the blessings in life.  Its easy to love someone who loves us back.  It is easy to have faith when we get all we want in life.  But it is when we can find a way to love those who cannot or will not love us, when we can surrender our will to that of the Divine and when we can see the Grace in death –  it is then that our heart and soul are truly engaged.

I am grateful for my cohort along the way who shared this road with me.  We lost a few along the way and I am grateful for their presence and wish them well as they move to rebuild their life, now that it has burned away.  Mostly, I am grateful for my teacher and for the Divine.

 

The work of the soul is not an easy path.

My relationship, along with my dreams, and now, my identity, were not things I wanted to release, but they were all beloved attachments.    I am not through the transformation…Death is complete.  Grief follows, and rebirth is yet to come.

I have been through a deep let go and I feel there are still tears to cry and babies to bury.

There is no joy in this death although I know that this lies on the other side of the process.

The last 24 hours, I feel as though I have been like Ashoka walked through the smokey fields of battle.  Like the King, I am overwhelmed with grief at what I have done and what I have not done.  And like Asoka, my heart is turning.

For some time now, I have had the growing sense that the next and final chapter of my life (whether it be 5 or 50 years) will be one of surrender to complete service to something far greater than myself.  And so, if there is any meaning in this suffering that I have faced in the fire, it is for that purpose.

 

Photo: Mads Schmidt-Rasmussen

For what are you most grateful, today?

Ten Thousand Days

Archaeology of The Heart

July 11, 2017

Photo: Gaelle Marcel

Gratitude, Joy, Oneness, Service, Purpose and Meaning (Day 1025 – Day 1045)

I haven’t been writing much lately.  I am in a very potent period of change following my spiritual retreat(s) and I’m expending most of my energy on making the changes that will set in motion the things I want to see come to pass.  I can’t really explain why this is a potent time, without going into the details of the mysteries of mysticism, so I will just say that the window of most potent opportunity is open right now and remains open for the next few weeks.  I am conserving my energy for the important shifts and transformation that is happening right now and so I’m not going to be writing much for the moment.

What has been happening within my heart is showing itself in surface activity but under that surface, the transformation is profound.  I have been working on healing injuries not from 6 months ago but from decades ago.  I am committed to this process.

In the course of my work, I have noticed that my heart feels like a closed temple.  When I talk to friends who have known me for decades, it is concerning to them to hear me say this.  It may not appear this way to an outsider, but I cannot feel love in my heart, right now.  For someone whose spiritual path is love and who has worked decades to open their heart, this is like being a member of the walking dead.  And so I am spending all my available energy to address this in seemingly unrelated activity.

We had a bank holiday for Canada Day and I was at Whistler.  I sat on the lawn in the Olympic park and listened to Vancouver Symphony Orchestra play Bizet’s Carmen,  watching the sun setting behind the Coastal Mountain Range.  In that moment, I was awe-struck with joy.  My heart felt the love of the glorious place where I was, for this beautiful planet that gives us life, despite how we mistreat her.  It was the first time in possibly a year that I had been overcome with the awe of joy.

Other things helped to close my heart again in that very same day, but the closure is not permanent, and I can see a tentative opening happening.  This week, as I was driving home after a hike, I saw the nearly full moon rise above the sublime Cascade mountains and I felt the awe of creation and the joy of that moment.  It is in moments like these that I feel that I can die, contented.

Spending time in nature and taking action to prove that I mean to change my life has begun to allow me to witness moments of Oneness and joy – and dare I say? – love, again.

I am grateful for the teachings and the tools that I have learned throughout my life to open my heart and while it has taken a longer time than it has in the past to heal from a current wounding, I can see progress.   I am grateful for the loving spiritual community that I have found around me who I support in working on their own healing and who support me in working on mine.  They don’t know what I need to heal and they don’t need to know.  It is enough that they know that I am striving to live my life’s purpose and that I will live in alignment with common values of integrity and responsibility.   And as everything impacts everything, being a part of this healing community is my service to the Oneness that is – in my cosmology – the Divine.

To be of service to the Oneness, I must be able to feel Oneness.  After the heartbreak of the end of last year and the devastation it left in my heart, it was hard to feel oneness and joy.  I am grateful for that taster these moments in nature are providing me.  Where human relationships can fail us and devastate us, the Oneness we find in nature can be a salve.

Last week, I had a conversation with the young man who brought so much pain into my life.  Afterwards, I noticed that I could not meditate on love and feel that love in my heart.  I am an introvert – when we feel hurt, we shut down.   But that is not a life sentence.

In any moment we really have only two choices: Love and fear.

At some point, love will devastate us.  It takes nothing to lock away our love and throw away the key.  It takes incredible courage to open up that chamber, after we have been deeply wounded.

It may take a few more archaeological digs and practical changes to clear out the fear that is keeping me from acting from Love. But there is meaning in the task.  Buried in the rubble of old pain, old wounding and old beliefs is a beautiful jewel more glorious than anything else in this world: the loving human heart.

 

Photo: Cathal mac an bheatha

 

For what are you most grateful, right now?

 

Ten Thousand Days

Fire and Water

June 20, 2017

Photo by Tania D. Campbell

Gratitude, Joy, Oneness, Service, Purpose and Meaning (Day 1117 – 1124)

Last year I took a big step in my life and decided to embark on a 4 year cycle of transformation with a Shamanic healer that I have known for about 20 years.  My first retreat on this pathway was held in Arizona a few weeks ago.

This is a mystery school and so it’s hard to talk about the transformation that happens and exactly how powerful it is.  I can describe what is happening but i think it must be experienced to be understood.  Much like my Sufi path, it involves direct connection with the Divine.

This past weekend, I was tasked to undertake the second part of a ritual that I began in Arizona.  On Thursday, I asked Spirit to show me what I needed to do and then I spent Friday gathering items from the woods and from the seaside to be offered in gratitude.  On Saturday, I went deep into the woods to find what needed to be found for the offering.  And then on Sunday, I met a cohort in Mount Vernon, Washington and we prepared ourselves and travelled and hiked to the ocean, where we undertook the ritual.

I’m grateful that I had a cohort with whom to do this work.  I’m not saying I couldn’t have done it, but he knows how to build a fire and I don’t.  He also knows the PNW and although I went to University here, I really never explored much of the area and have lived away from here most of my adult life.  I’m grateful that I got to see a new beach in a part of Washington that I love to visit and is closer to me than my own Canadian city.  And of course, I am grateful to the power of Spirit for answering my prayers and participating with me in my transformation.

After the ritual was complete, it was a joy to spend time with my cohort and watch the sun set.  While we prepared our sacred space, my cohort noticed a hummingbird and I realised that I had never actually seen one in person.  As we continued, crow, geese, small birds and seagulls all came to participate with us.  I really did feel a sense of Oneness with the bird population all around us.  As I work through this transformation, I am clearing a lot of energy that keeps me from living my soul’s purpose and removes a legacy of blocked energy for the descendants of this time.  In an invisible way, I am doing deep service not only for myself and my relations but for my ancestors, descendants and – with mindfulness – the planet.

The main aim of this work is to free an individual to live their soul’s purpose.  As we were heading to the beach for the ritual, we happened upon a Before I Die wall in Mount Vernon, Washington and without hesitation I answered their call:

Before I die, I want to______

Me, writing on the Before I Die wall in Mount Vernon, WA. Photo: Jeff Hammerquist

 

‘Live my soul’s purpose.’

 

It was another magic moment.

I’m not sure that I am clear about what that soul purpose is, for me – I have many passions and gifts, but as I work with the programme, and follow the directions in which I am guided, I do believe that will become clear.

As I was preparing for the ritual of this past weekend, I was very aware of the energy of fire and water and so much of that energy went into creating my ritual objects and was present in the choice of location for our ritual fire (right by the ocean/bay).  As I look to the next ritual for Summer Solstice, which occurs this evening and will be celebrated for the following week, it is very much the energies that I associate with both fire and water that are calling out to be healed, set free and celebrated.

I skinny dipped for the first time while I was away.  I’ve  sunbathed in a clothing optional situation before before but skinny dipping was not really something I ever had the chance to do.  And of all the things that happened on retreat, I think this may be one of the most momentous.  Under a nearly full moon and in the presence of the stars, I bathed in the fullness of most glorious vulnerable nudity and for perhaps the first time, I felt fully that I was a part of all of creation and all of creation was a part of me.

I won’t tell you where I’m celebrating the solstice, but I do plan to repeat the process on the beach and invite, free and celebrate the energies and lessons of this summer season.  I hope that you, wherever you are, will greet this season of passion, fire and youth with joy and celebration.  I wish us all  the exhilaration of feeling naked and vulnerable before something greater than ourselves and the courage to surrender to that out-of-control-not-knowing-wonder-of-being!

Have a wonderful Summer Solstice!

Photo: Farsai – C

For what are you most grateful, right now?

Ten Thousand Days

Exhausted but Well

June 12, 2017

Photo: Sabri Tuzcu

Gratitude, Joy, Oneness, Service, Purpose and Meaning (Day 1102 – 1116)

I am exhausted but I am well. I’ve been on two spiritual retreats, back to back for the past 10 days.  I’ve been on spiritual retreats before.  They are taxing.  Usually you are in a place that is – in many ways –  not your comfort zone and one’s last bastion of comfort – one’s  bed – is too hard or too soft to get a good night’s sleep.  Sometimes the food disturbs your digestion.  This time the food was wonderful and eating completely clean meant that my body detoxed a lot of rubbish and I started to feel so much better.  It was a good lesson in the way that I must care for myself.  It is easier to do, of course, when you have a full time chef, but there are simple changes I can make that don’t involve spending tons of time in the kitchen.  Salad at every meal is one, cutting out synthetic sweeteners and additives, and limiting my wheat intake are others.  Nothing I didn’t know already, but I felt it in my bones, and that is the way to get things to stick.

The other changes, well they go pretty deep and transformation is exhausting.  I have arrived home more tired than when I left.  I look forward to my bed, right after work, tonight.  Tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep in my beautiful memory foam mattress, I will be in a better position to tackle things.   For now, all I can think about is staying awake another 5 hours.  I feel as though I have jet lag – the way I used to feel after flying back to London from the West Coast of Canada.  I don’t have jet lag.  But the exhaustion is complete.   Sleep is healing, on many levels.  In my sleep I have dreamed – a LOT – in the past 10 days.  And those dreams are very much my teachers.

I’m grateful for the wonderful teachings I received this week and for the transmission of the teachers.  Both retreats involve transformation and that kind of work is profound and exhausting.  I’m grateful to feel a shift and I am grateful that I’ve been given some new tools (although it is up to me and me alone to work them) to help make the shift one that sticks.  It was a joy to experience a kind of Oneness that can only come from being with people who are willing to be vulnerable with one another.  I miss my gang already.  My service in the coming weeks is to do my inner work and to support the others who were on retreat, in doing theirs.

Going on retreat during the first vacation I’ve had in over a year demonstrated my commitment to living my purpose and living a life of meaning, regardless of my occupation.  It is, however, just the first step.  The next step is healing sleep, and for that, I am deeply grateful for the simple gift of being able to sleep in my own bed tonight.

 

For what are you most grateful, right now?

Ten Thousand Days

What You Wish For…

May 29, 2017

Photo: Roya Ann Miller

Gratitude, Joy, Oneness, Service, Purpose and Meaning (Day 1091 – 1101)

On Saturday, I marked the passage of another year in my life.  I used to love birthdays and I’m not afraid to admit that I loved it if people fussed over me.  I would cajole boyfriends and family into fussing over me on my special day (when I was a child, this stretched to my special week, and – if I could get away with it – my special month).  I think I would still like birthdays if I had a significant other who make a big fuss over me and celebrated me on my birthday.

But, there was a year, a few years ago, when I was hitting a milestone birthday and my career was in the tank and I had just ended a relationship.  I really did not want to be reminded that time was passing as what seemed like my whole life was falling away.  Since then, I’ve had an ambivalent relationship with birthdays and I respect anyone who says they really don’t want to make a fuss over their day.  The older we get, the more we have to adjust to the idea that life is probably not going to bring us a castle or a Maserati or a soul mate life partner in the way we dreamed that it would.

The older we get, the more we are asked to let go of these wishes…at least, if we are on a spiritual path.  More so, if we are on a path of mysticism.

I meditate with a group of mystics.  I have a sense of what mysticism is and I think we all know it when we see it, but put quite simply – it is the belief that a direct experience of Oneness with the Divine can be achieved through the heart or mind of the mystic.  This is not a pretentious group of self proclaimed mystics; they are earnest mediators on a spiritual path of mysticism, with the hope of the Grace to achieve that unio mystico (union with the Divine) that every mystic craves, like an addict craves heroin.

Like an addict, the mystic appears crazy to the world around them.  The mystic is drunk on the love of the Divine and knows that what the soul needs is not always in the best interests of the personality.  Sometimes what the soul needs is terribly painful to the personality.  In my early days on the spiritual path, I learned about the importance of a teacher to guide us, because in yogic traditions, when the kundalini awakens, it is disturbing to the entire system, and can cause psychosis, without a knowledgeable teacher helping to guide us through the destruction of the ego and our entire world view.

My kundalini has not awakened and if living as one with the Divine is how we define being a mystic, then I’m not a mystic, either.  I’m grateful that I’ve not had a disturbing awakening –  because I am afraid of it.  I’m shit scared of it, to be honest.  And, at the same time, my soul yearns for it.   When I travelled to India to immerse myself in yoga, I teetered on the precipice of surrender to the Divine and the path of awakening.  Like most spiritual aspirants, I couldn’t do it.  I was afraid of the pain.

I have spiritual ambivalence, and I’ve struggled with this, all my life.

I’ve known since childhood that my purpose in life is spiritual but as a young person, it is easy to put off what is difficult because we feel we have all the time in the world to live our lives and get down to the serious business of spiritual attainment later in life.  As I get older, I see that the next breath is not guaranteed, and spiritual attainment does not usually come without spiritual practice – done in earnest and for a long time.  It is a disservice not only to myself, but to living my purpose on this earth, to put it off one moment longer.  And yet, in both conscious and unconscious ways, I’m continuing to put it off.

Recently, I was given a gift by Spirit.  It caused me tremendous pain and so, in an impulsive moment, I prayed to be relieved of my pain until such time as the gift could be received in a package that was palatable to the personality.  And just like that, it was gone.  I felt relief, but as the pain left, so did the gift.  The absence of that gift is perhaps more difficult to swallow than the pain.

What I had not realised is that the pain was a roadmap to where Spirit was calling me to work, in my life, toward my soul’s purpose.  Those who work with depth psychology will know that depression is a gift, if we learn to work with it.  In it, we can find meaning and listen to our shadow story that wants to be told.  Once it is told and freed, we are no longer ruled by the unseen forces of that unconscious story line waiting to be heard.

Of course, I’m not belittling the suffering of those in depression or anguish or despair.  It is horrible.  Sometimes we aren’t strong enough to bear it.  But it is important to remember – and I have come to realize the hard way – that when we wish away our depression and our pain, we wish away the opportunity for healing and integration.

Until we face our pain and listen to the shadow story that it tells, it will repeat over and over again in our lives.  Looking back from the perspective of a heart in relief, I wish I had had the courage to deal with it now, rather than when it surprises me again, in the future.  The meaning of our lives is not found only in the narrative of success and triumph and cultivated relationships that we tell ourselves and one another.  It is also found in the story of broken hearts and power plays and dark obsessions that the soul yearns to tell and have heard and accepted.

On Saturday, I had the joy of spending a wonderful evening with a new friend at her home and she bought me a cake for my birthday.  I had the opportunity to make a wish as I cut my birthday cake.  I’m always grateful for the opportunity to dream or to wish or to become deeply connected and pray.  Having been granted freedom from suffering – and with it, freedom from a direct experience with God – I chose not to make any more wishes.

As the variant of the old Yiddish curse goes: Be careful what you wish for; you just might receive it.

 

Photo: Noah Silliman

 

For what are you most grateful, today?

Ten Thousand Days

Disappearing Act

May 18, 2017

 

Photo: Elijah Hail

Gratitude, Joy, Oneness, Service, Purpose and Meaning (Day 921 – 1090)

It may appear as if I have not posted in 6 months.  This is not the case.  Regular readers will know that every few weeks, I have returned to this website to do what I promised to do – to write about gratitude in both the joyful and painful times.  I found  gratitude, joy, Oneness, purpose, and service in my life and by the way I processed life’s events, I have attempted to find meaning.  It has been a painful 6 months, but I have fulfilled my promise, and I trust that those who needed to find some solidarity in what I wrote in 2017 have already found their way to this website and have taken what they needed from the experience.

In Economics, contracts are only fair if there is no information asymmetry between parties.  Of course, economic theory is based on human behavior.  We know that this principle is true in our most personal relationships and so it stands to reason that the principle holds true at a wider level.  I’ve been processing a very painful, quick, sudden and complete ending of a relationship, without the benefit of any answers, the opportunity to ask my questions or even to be heard.  Neither have I been given a chance to work thing out, nor the chance to say a loving and complete goodbye.  I am in limbo. I have waited and I have given the benefit of the doubt.  Eventually, we have to emerge from the fog and accept that we may never get the closure we were promised and make whatever peace we can with living in a state of incomplete information and make space in our baggage for what may always remain an unresolved relationship.   Life is subject to change, but so far, we have not had the private dialogue that I needed, in order to move on with dignity.  In the absence of that, I know that my public words, here, have provided him with the very healing opportunity that I have wanted and needed.  And while I always want to do whatever I could to facilitate the  healing of someone I have loved, I am painfully aware of being in a state of information asymmetry and the unfairness of the position in which this places me.

I will never be able to fully resolve this, alone, but I choose to let go, of what is done, with love.  And so, I have let all my posts disappear.

I’m grateful to all my readers who have witnessed my journey through the fog, thus far.  I am grateful that my words touched friends and strangers alike.  Today I am grateful to see the sunshine, aware that spring weather in the PNW is just a few days away.  It is a joy to see the sun after so many days of rain and snow that can cause us to draw inward.  When our hearts have been damaged, we will also draw inward and not want to connect with others.  And, so Oneness remains something of a challenge for me but in the past few weeks I have reached out to friends who are struggling and I’ve been able to connect with them in supporting them in their time of need.  Sometimes, the best way to lift our hearts is to help another who is in pain.  Although I’ve written those (now, phantom) posts in service to those who may have found solace or inspiration in my words, I’ve struggled to write these past 6 months. I haven’t written much, but what I have written was very raw, very personal and very deep. I am content that I have acted with integrity and that I upheld our dignity and privacy in sharing my journey, focusing on me and on what was being triggered for me and how I might live gratefully through a terrible time.  But truly, in pain, I am a most private person.   If one good thing has come of this time, it is that I have taken my unwillingness to commit my darker emotions to words,  and I have poured the depth of my private thoughts and feelings into a non-verbal art form.  Without formal training as an artist, I have been able to share my heart through painting.  I have created some beautiful pieces, some playful pieces and pieces rich with meaning.  Painting has opened up a new world to me and I have been able to offer beauty back to the world.  In that, and in the writing of those (now, phantom) posts, I have remained on purpose.

I have always had a special kinship with the archetype of Persephone who rises from being a captive of Hades, in Springtime. We’ve spent a winter in hell, together, and while the Spring hasn’t fully arrived, I’m truly grateful to see the sun again, today.

 

Photo: Sarah Mak

 

For What Are You Most Grateful?

Ten Thousand Days

Duckie

November 29, 2016

 

Photo: Darius Anton

Photo: Darius Anton

Gratitude, Joy, Oneness and Service (Day 915 – Day 920)

Recently I overheard two people talking about a third man who was in the throes of unrequited love. They described it as full-on “Duckie love.”

Anyone of a certain age will be taken back to the unforgettable character Duckie, played by John Cryer in Pretty in Pink.  He became not only a gay icon, but also the epitome of unrequited love.  Sensitive, devoted, and expressive, Duckie was the poster boy for the ‘outsider.’

The film came out long after I left high school but, as with all John Hughes films, like most of my generation, I could relate to it.   I was never Duckie in highschool.  As much as I wanted to punch her in her pouty lips (projection, much?) I always identified with the Molly Ringwald character, Andie.  Although I wasn’t poor like Andie, I was always the pretty girl who had boys in love with her.  When I changed high schools in my graduating year, I was with a lot of much richer kids and I got a taste of the despicable snobbery of James Spader’s character, Steff, who really did think in terms of social class, at the age of 18.  Like Steff did with Andie, a young and popular rich kid on the rugby team took a fancy to me and made advances at me at a party.  When I rejected him, I became the outcast of the school.  I guess my initiation as Andie was complete.

My mother, too, had been a young beauty.  She came from a group of people that are ridiculed in Canada, despite being admired by strangers the world over.  She, too, knew what it was like to suffer prejudice because of her background.  But she met and married a young man, and as time went on, his career took him to fancier and fancier places and she never really felt comfortable there.  Her beauty faded, as it will, with time, and she was insecure.  She learned the hard way what we all learn about our society – for women, our power is greatest when we are young and beautiful.  As we age, it fades and men gain in power through accomplishment, status and wealth.

I’d like to say that isn’t the case, and I have always been a feminist.  But all we need to do is look at the US elections to recognize just how far we really have come, as a society in accepting women – especially older women – and condoning their right to power.  And yet, we must not let society dictate our roles.

Duckie was an original, (the character Watts, from Some Kind of Wonderful, was the female version of his archetype).  He didn’t do things the way society told him to do them, and I guess this is what makes him the iconic character he is today.

I wish I’d had more Duckie moments when I was young, to build character and to prepare me for life as an older woman.  I didn’t.  I’ve had to learn the hard way, too.  We all know that feeling of being in a relationship where we love harder and more fully than the object of our affection.  It can be devastating, if we let it be.

I’ve had my heart broken and I’m grateful not for the pain, but for the resilience I have developed (even as an older woman) as a result of it.  Many people have their heart broken once and never love again.  I’ve had it broken twice.  And again, while not grateful for that pain, I am grateful for the time that preceded it and the time when I was loved.

I’m not really sure I want to put myself in the position of even one more unrequited love in this lifetime.

I wonder who Duckie would be, today.  Would he have loved again?  Would he have found someone who loved him in return?  Or, would he rent a penthouse flat and become a recluse?  Would Duckie have learned to recognize true love and tell it apart from those times when he was being played?  I hope he would have continued to grow and recognized that he deserved someone who was ready to stand up and love him, wholeheartedly and without reservation.

I’d like that for myself as well, and I still believe it is possible for me.  I am grateful for the ability both to keep my heart open and to discern between the fear of being hurt and the uneasy inner knowing when something isn’t right with a love relationship.

It was a joy to be reminded of the character, Duckie.  I am learning to embrace and to love my inner Duckie.   While his broken heart hurt, Duckie triumphed and maintained his integrity.  He was the only real winner in the whole movie, despite losing the girl.  He won, because he grew as a human.  When I think about him now, I feel a tender Oneness and communion with the character’s vulnerable young heart and soul.  Yes, Andie got the rich kid boy in the end, but we all know they probably didn’t stay together and she was probably left devastated.   But Duckie loved, he lost and he recovered.  I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be Duckie than any other character in that film.

And so, as we head into the most romantic season of the year, my service today is to remind us all that the only real way to guarantee the outcome of the game is to leave the field of play.  We are all human and we all want to be the first to bail in a relationship, before they bail on us.  To paraphrase John Hughes…we all do just want to let them know that they didn’t break us…

But love is always a risk; Once in a while, the risk may turn out to be worth it.  The odds really are not in our favour.  Unless we are game theory experts, the best we can do is to summon our inner Duckie,  have courage, self esteem, and an open heart as we keep doing our own internal calculus, moment by moment.  We all deserve someone who will love us wholeheartedly and without reservation.

 

For what are you most grateful this week?

Ten Thousand Days

The Blindspot

November 23, 2016
Photo: Oscar Keys

Photo: Oscar Keys

Gratitude, Joy, Oneness and Service (Day 908 – Day 914)

A few days ago I had a strange dream.

I wear eyeglasses and in my dream, the glass spontaneously shattered.  When I awoke, I felt that this was one of those ‘important’ dreams in my life.  I feel that it was screaming at me about that thing we all have but simply cannot see: our blindspot.

Many of us have problems seeing what is right before our eyes.  When we are grieving, Kubler Ross tells us that there are stages through which we cycle, and one of those is denial.  When we are in denial, we cannot see what it is that is presenting itself as a losss.  We can not bear it.  The other side of seeing – being seen – is also a challenge for many of us.  I am willing to go out on a limb and say that all of us want to be seen – really seen for who we are – and loved as we are.  But it is the risk that we will not be loved, or the belief that we are unloveable that makes being seen – really seen – such an act of vulnerability.

I remember sitting in a playwriting workshop one hundred years ago and my teacher, the award winning playwright, Joan MacLeod, spoke of her best friend.  He was able to see her blindspot and she was able to see his. So, I asked around.

Before the first friend answered, I went through a list:  I love someone and it is a challenging relationship.  But, I have faith in the relationship.  Was this my blindspot?  I had a milestone birthday recently and with it, I struggled to reconcile my inner sense of youth with ageing.  Is this somehow my blindspot?  I carry more weight than is healthy and there are certainly emotional reasons for this.  Could that be my blindspot?

Friends started responding.  Some have known me longer than others, and some have known me more intimately than others.  I thought of the woman with whom I have been closest, and of my mother.  I thought of what they would say.  And then a friend said it:

My blindspot is my self worth, she said.  If I could see myself like others do, I would have a much different and higher sense of self worth.

I think to some extent, we all struggle with this.

Where do we develop our self esteem?  I suppose it develops in childhood when we are seen and mirrored by our primary caregivers.  What we developed as children is reinforced by our actions as adults.  One thing is certain: we cannot have high self esteem if we are doing things in our lives for which we are not proud.  But, looking at it now, no number of accomplishments and sense of integrity can ever completely fill that sense of lack, if we were not mirrored as children.

As a child, teen and young adult, I was applauded for certain kinds of accomplishments and parts of my personality.  My artistic side was called ridiculous and I was chastised for being a dreamer.  I was not loved for who I was, exactly as I was.  I was not mirrored.  What was seen and loved and what I could see and love of myself was like looking into a shattered mirror and seeing only parts of myself, but never the whole.

This week I had the task of painting a self portrait in my art class.  I’m a beginner at drawing and at painting but I do my best and my best is usually not good, but also not that bad.  So I sketched myself and painted in the glasses, focusing on my eyes and my lips.  It was an interesting and intriguing piece.  Many people suggested I leave it at that.  I thought I would.

One afternoon, my father unexpectedly bought the family lunch and I had my painting in the car.  So, I brought it in, and showed it to my family.  They looked at me, at my unfinished painting, back at me and then continued their conversation without saying anything about it.  If I had chosen to write a scene of psychic annihilation I don’t think I could have chosen a more perfect moment than that.

A few days later, I returned to the painting and decided to complete it.  Although I had used a magnifying mirror and a low angle, the resulting portrait was distorted and more grotesque than even the magnification would produce.  I look in the mirror and I know that I don’t look this way.  And yet, I am blind to myself.

In my dream, I had been standing at a crossroads when my glasses shattered.  I had come from a place where I had plugged in to ‘the source’, but my machine had been borrowed from a man.

When I was young, my father said on more than one occasion that I would never amount to anything without him.  I am sure that he probably meant that I should be grateful for the roof over my head and my tuition.  But the words went far deeper than that, for me, as a child.  I am a half a century old and for half a century I have sought my father’s approval.  Despite all my accomplishments, I don’t think he’s ever said that he is proud of me.  If I cannot amount to anything without him, perhaps at an unconscious level, I feel that I fail to exist without his approval.

Consciously I have let go of this wish, but the unconscious has a way of holding on and repeating patterns.  I love a man who disengages from me sometimes and although this is his coping mechanism, it triggers my earlier sense of not being mirrored.  When he is engaged, he is able to see so much of me – the admirable and the less admirable qualities – and he loves me as I am.  I am grateful that when he is able to stay connected, he models for me what I lacked in childhood.  When we are connected, it is a  joy to spend time with him and to work through our differences and come to a deeper understanding of one another and a deeper level of closeness.  I sometimes wonder how I got so blessed to meet someone so kind and gentle, and I cannot express how grateful I am for him, in my life.  He is working on staying engaged, and I am working on self-soothing and ‘holding space for him’ in his times of solitude. But the fact is that he is prone to disengage and not understand me.  In those moments, I feel invisible.  I don’t know where the relationship is heading but it has been a growth experience for both of us, and for my ability to stand up and ask to be seen, and for his ability to sometimes offer his gentle love in the face of my vulnerability, I am grateful.

I’m grateful for my dream because it has provided me the opportunity to consider the things that are holding me back and to which I am blind.    In my dream, I was at a crossroads, as I am now, in my life.  I am grateful for this moment.

My father was a writer and I know he had a real talent for poetry.  He wrote love poems to my mother when they courted.  He grew up in a different era and he suppressed his own artistic side in order to become a provider for his family.  I am certain that some of his insistence on gratitude conveyed in those offhand, but damning words, came from his own experience of having given up more than any of us know, in order to be a husband and father.  I know he has a soft heart, like I do, and despite his damaging messages, we are both writers, poets and lovers and in knowing that, I feel Oneness with him and I am able to love him despite the wounding of the past.

As we go into the holiday season, we return to our families of origin for at least a few days.  My service this week is to write this to remind us all that we are always at a crossroads, that most of us are blind to how amazing we truly are, and to send out this reminder that there is always a new way of seeing the hurt that we carry with us, so that we can leave it behind us, at the crossroads.

For what are you grateful this week?

 

Ten Thousand Days

Just Like Family

November 15, 2016
Photo: Katie Chase

Photo: Katie Chase

Gratitude, Joy, Oneness and Service (Day 904 – Day 907)

My best friend is just like family to me and he has embarked on a seminal adventure in America this week.  He is on a hero’s journey that he must take alone.   And while I know this,  I worry about him when he is driving and camping alone.  I worry, and maybe I am over the top on my anxiety, but a boy I cared for died on a camping trip in high school when he fell down a ravine.  I don’t know what happened when he disappeared – only his family knows those details – but I do know that he died, alone, in that ravine.

Being over the top on my anxiety has led me into a thought experiment.  When you care about someone, you want them to be safe and if they aren’t safe, you want to get them help, as soon as possible.   I would be comfortable with being in the position of taking point on alerting National Parks, Highway Patrol and Search and Rescue if my friend, who is just like family – but not family – had failed to check in.  But, it turns out that he had made the arrangement with his ‘real family’.

Being like family, but not family, is a wonderful feeling to have with a friend.  Sit with it a moment and it becomes clear that it is a pretty terrible position to be in, if the world falls apart.  His family probably doesn’t even know that I exist.  And if they know that I exist, they certainly wouldn’t think that my attachment to him warranted being kept in the loop.

And my thought experiment causes me to reflect on what is happening in America right now.

In the 1980s, my cousin, DK, died of AIDS.  I don’t know if he had a significant other.  Knowing his father, I’m pretty sure that if he did have a S.O., that man was not welcomed.  The family made all end of life decisions and somewhere in the ethers there was undoubtedly someone who was at least as attached to my cousin as his parents were, and arguably, more so, perhaps.  Out in the ethers was possibly a person who my cousin loved deeply, and who probably never got to be near him as he died.  He probably wasn’t even kept in the loop.

Being just like family – but not family – is a pretty terrible place to be, when the world falls apart.

When his father made it unbearable for DK, as a young gay man, he left home.  My mother took him in – even through he was my father’s nephew, and hers only by marriage.  For awhile, I got to grow up with him in my nuclear family, and for that I am grateful.  He taught me not to judge someone by their sexuality before I even knew what sexuality was.  I am grateful to him for opening my eyes to a world that had fallen apart and a group of people that was so staunchly being pushed into the closet and left to die by politicians like Ronald Reagan and by vocal activists like Anita Bryant.  I am grateful to my mother for teaching me about making a family of choice when the world falls apart.  DK was more than my cousin – for at least awhile, he was also my brother.

I find joy in knowing that my friend, who is just like family – but not family – is finding himself in the woods, even as I am realizing the pain of being just like family – but not family.

Right now my friend is in Oregon – the seat of some of the most violent protests in the wake of the US election.  I think about what the election results and the promised policies may mean for many families in America and I can feel the sense of despair, abandonment and lack of safety that so many in the LGBTQ+ community must be feeling.  It is unthinkable that the current painful situation in which I find myself could be legislated by my government:  that I would not have the chance to be by his side were he pulled out of a ravine in critical condition.

I’m not an American.  There is nothing I can do for my American friends except to be a supporter.  Many of them are my extended family of choice and I have a bittersweet sense of Oneness with their sense, when the world falls apart, of not being considered ‘real family’.  And I feel the same sense of powerlessness to defend their rights as they might now feel about their own democratic process.

My service this week, and for as long as it takes, is to continue to speak up about marriage equality and climate change, sexism and racism in whatever forum I can, because until you’ve lived a thought experiment like mine and found yourself to be an outsider, you may not realise just how precarious it is to be just like family – but not family – when the world falls apart.

For what are you grateful this week?

Ten Thousand Days

Hope Slide

November 11, 2016
Photo: Jared Erondu

Photo: Jared Erondu

Gratitude, Joy, Oneness and Service (Day 888 – Day 903)

When I was a child, we spent some of our summer holidays in British Columbia visiting my grandparents, aunties, uncles and cousins.  Every year, my mother took us to see the Japanese Internment camps as a reminder that we must never take our liberties for granted, and every year, we stopped at the site of the Hope Slide.

The Hope landslide occurred in the early hours of one January morning in 1965.  Two carloads of travellers on the Hope-Princeton Highway witnessed a minor slide ahead of them and stopped short of it and waited.  Why they were waiting remains a mystery.

Other travellers, just moments ahead of them, made it through the pass, outside of Chilliwack, unscathed and unaware that there had been a minor slide.  A greyhound bus, fully loaded with passengers, came behind the two cars and turned around at the sight of the blocked highway.

But those two cars, in Hope, waited.

Moments later, the entire mountain came down upon them.  Only two bodies were ever found.  The rest remain entombed under 47 million cubic metres of rock that remains as a monument – the Hope Slide.

As an adult, I wonder about the significance of making this pilgrimage every year.  My mother was one of the kindest people I have ever known, and although a person of quiet and unwavering faith, she was not sentimental.  So why this annual pilgrimage to Hope?

In the darkest of times, we are told to have hope.

The Oxford Dictionary defines hope as:

A feeling of expectation and desire for a particular thing to happen.

I am a person of faith and my faith has been tested and fortified in difficult times.  But hope, it seems to me, has little to do with faith.  It is, in some ways, the antithesis of faith.  Faith asks us to watch for the signs we are given and act accordingly, even when it is gut wrenching to do so. Hope abdicates personal responsibility and seems to ask only that we desire something and expect that it will happen.  It is a kind of magical thinking we ought to leave behind, in childhood.

In the darkest of times, we are not called to light a candle and sit in the dark, with hope.  We are called to have faith in the Divine and in that complete and complex confidence, to ACT, and to BE the light for those who have lost their own.  Our hope can slide, as it has for many of us in these dark times.

Faith endures.

Today, amidst the sombre mood of the world, the death of probably the greatest of my writing heroes  – Leonard Cohen – was made public.  I am deeply saddened by his death.  His was a carnal dance with the darkness and yet his spiritual light was never extinguished.  He taught me about the poetic and bittersweet death of the ego long before the yogis ever did.  And he taught me the profound poignancy of language.  For him, and for his prophetic words, I will always be grateful.

I am grateful that I came through the dark days after Brexit in the UK and am able to offer support to my American friends who feel unsafe in their own country because they are gay, or a person of colour or an immigrant – classes of people that have come under attack in a vicious presidential race.  I don’t tell them not to lose hope, because the minor landslide has occurred and I think it would be reasonable to expect the whole mountain to come down.  I do, however, encourage them not to lose faith, to act, and to BE the light, in all of this darkness.

I am grateful for my faith.  I don’t believe in some man with a beard, but I do believe in Oneness and in the web of light that is being held by spiritual practitioners who continue, daily, to make the choice to act on faith.

Joy may seem hard to find these days, but not if we reflect.  This morning, I awoke to a blue sky.  Even if only for a moment, my heart was lifted.  And that temporary respite from all the doom and gloom gave me rest, so that I could be there for others.

My service in the past few weeks has been to allow myself to be both vulnerable with another and strong when required.  I have been no less than a most intimate friend.

There is nothing better we can be, right now, to one another.

In memory of Leonard Cohen, I share a video of his song of undying love, inspired by the string quartets of the Nazi death camps.  In all the darkness, when there is no hope, we can still act to BE the light.

For what are you most grateful this week?

 

Ten Thousand Days

Ruby Slippers

October 25, 2016
"Ruby Slippers" Photo by Tania D Campbell

“Ruby Slippers” Photo by Tania D Campbell

Gratitude, Joy, Oneness and Service (Day 775 – Day 887)

In the tired, overused words of Dorothy, in The Wizard of Oz:  “There’s no place like home.”

I have written about the idea of home at that at this point in my life, being unmarried, childless and uprooted to a new town I would not choose were it not for the fact that my father lives here, I feel that I am my own and only home.  To be fair, I’ve felt this for a very long time.  Every time I have fallen in love, I have looked for that relationship to become a kind of ‘family of choice’ and I have taken a sense of ‘home’ from that relationship.  When the relationship ends, these men remain forever a part of my family of choice.  How exactly that relationship goes down is a bit awkward.  We aren’t partners but we aren’t siblings.  Let’s just say: ‘Family.’

Recently I got into a very intimate relationship with someone at lightening speed.  It was dizzying and deep.  It was deeper than I’ve gone with anyone before.  And it happened in the course of a couple of weeks.  I kept saying to another friend that I didn’t understand what was suddenly happening and I wanted to stop and reflect.  But there was no time for that.  It just kept speeding ahead and leaving me with a cauldron of emotions to contend with.

I ruminate.  It is a necessary quality for a writer.  It is a terrible quality for a person steeped in a sea of unresolved emotions.  I learned long ago that we project onto our significant other all the things that we cannot own in ourselves.  I also learned long ago that while we may feel we will die if a love relationship ends, we won’t.  We could, if we don’t enter into a soulful relationship with what is happening.  And so, I took a good long look at someone who possesses so many qualities I desire.  And, I set about rediscovering them in myself.

One of the things I love about him is that he loves nature.  We both have a love of trees and hiking.  So, I went hiking this weekend in my favorite forested spot.

 

"sdom of the Trees" Photo by Tania D Campbell

“Wisdom of the Trees” Photo by Tania D Campbell

 

I love how he is environmentally conscious and wants to make a net positive contribution to the environment. I want the same. So, I found a place that will take my organic waste (it was not being separated at my apartment) and I visited the composting facility.  I also joined some organic farming guilds and made commitments to do some removal of invasive species and re-planting in the coming weeks with an ecological volunteer group.  What drew him to me was my spirituality and what drew me to him was a particular brand of spirituality.  So I signed up to step into that more fully and I engaged with local people who come from my own spiritual tradition.

I love what he does for a living and I aspire to have some of that in my own life.  So I signed on for some classes to teach myself about it.

I love that we are both INFP on the Meyers Briggs scale and we really seem to understand each other.  In a way, it feels like home and that makes this so difficult.  As INFPs, we go deep.  And we need solitude to experience ourselves and our connection to the world.  I needed solitude and I wasn’t getting it.

On Sunday, I went to a corn maze alone.  I was feeling old, tired and unloved. Perhaps getting in touch with a sense of childhood play would make me feel young again.  It was this shared sense of play that first drew me to him.

It was the muddiest that the maze has ever been.  As a child I loved to play in mud puddles and after a few hours lost in the maze, I came out with my boots covered in mud and a lighter heart. Seeing my boots later, a friend commented that they weren’t exactly ruby slippers but that they had a charm to them.

And I thought about it.  If I am my own and only home, these boots, which have been around the world with me and seen love and loss are the only things that really are my home.

 

And so, I am grateful for these old boots that have carried me to nearly every continent of this planet.  I hope they will take me to Antarctica, yet.  I am grateful for hard earned lessons in life that cannot be mentored to someone because they have to be lived and the pain endured.  And I am grateful for the experience of loving someone so deeply.  As much pain as there can be in it, it has taken me to places I have never before been and my capacity to love another has grown.

Service and the rarer breed of service: sacrifice has been my primary focus the last few weeks.  Being of service and putting someone else’s needs before my own has landed me here.   I hit what appears to be an impasse with this man last week.  I felt the pain of early abandonment.  My friend, AK, gave me the best advice but the hardest advice to take.  She asked me – regardless of what is happening with him – can you love yourself?  It seemed incomprehensible at the time.  But, I think this is the most important love relationship we can have.  If we cannot love ourselves, we cannot sustainably  love another.  My first and primary responsibility is to love the only one I will always come home to; I am my own family.

Even in the darkest moments we can look for the slightest glimmer of light to lead us home, and despite feeling left in a pre-verbal cesspool of abandonment pain, I managed to rediscover a sense of joy in playing in the mud.

A labyrinth is a traditional symbol for the inner journey, and the corn maze was my labyrinth.  I really needed to journey back to my Self – to the part of me that is always and ever a part of the collective unconsciousness and always worthy of and in receipt of unconditional love.  Instead of only being able to see the Divine in someone else, I found it in myself and in that moment of Oneness – very fleeting but reassuringly there – I found my way home.

 

Photo: Allef Vinicius

Photo: Allef Vinicius

 

For what are you grateful this week?