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Ten Thousand Days

Ten Thousand Days

The Things We Do For Love

November 24, 2020

Photo: Tony Liao

Day 2280 – Day 2292

On Sunday I spent the afternoon alternately watching a video with my dad and hiding my face in the folds of my cowl-neck sweater.  My dad loves war movies.  If you read my previous post, you will know that I have a respect for the sacrifice of soldiers but I don’t enjoy the glorification of war.  Recently my dad asked his wife about the film We Were Soldiers and she tried to find the videotape in the stores but didn’t succeed (video? does anyone actually sell videos anymore?) When I heard that my dad had asked again, I quickly tapped my fingers and bought a DVD version online and planned to give it to him for Christmas.  If there is anything that Covid has taught me, it is this: Don’t delay enjoyment and spending time with family.

My father had an outpatient surgery on Friday and I’ve been over every day to see him as he recovers.  I was in the hospital a year ago for over a month which is pretty long, by Canadian standards, since we only have 2 hospital beds per 1000 people in this country.  I know that visits mean the world to a person who is unable to get on with their normal life.  Dad has enjoyed the golf masters and some football games over the weekend but there was a lull in the entertainment for him and so I brought over the movie.

His wife tells me that I “watched it” with him some Christmas past.  I suspect that while he was watching it, I was busy wrapping presents or scrolling through Instagram or texting with my ex-boyfriend.  I cannot imagine that I actually watched it.

I had a panic attack when I was a young woman and as sometimes happens, I developed the fear of having another panic attack in the same public place and so I started avoiding places like sporting events.  I am highly sensitive and the first panic attack revealed this to the world, if nobody had ever taken me seriously before.  We were in Las Vegas and we had ring-side seats for a boxing match.  I think Evander Holyfield was one of the fighters.  It looks almost civil on television.  I can tell you that when you are ringside, you can get pretty dizzy with the sound of boxing gloves pounding flesh, bones crunching and blood and sweat flying out of the ring towards you.  My father worked in an abattoir as a teenager to earn money for the family so flying blood and guts was probably nothing to make him squeamish.  I, on the other hand, had the first panic attack that would turn into a year of recovery from agoraphobia (generalized avoidance of all places where a panic attack might occur).

Violence traumatizes me.  So, to sit and stare at the fireplace or out the window for the length of the movie was all I could do.  I didn’t know the history of this particular battle (although my father knows the history of pretty much every battle of the 20th century of American, British, Canadian and allied soldiers) but I knew well enough that big trouble was coming when one platoon ran off from the rest.  I dove my face into the folds of my sweater, as my intuitive filmic sense unfolded the ambush I knew was coming.

I didn’t want my dad to feel that I was not enjoying spending time with him and keeping him company as he recovers.  But wow, getting through that film left me feeling very queasy.  I’m happy and grateful that he enjoyed the film and it made him emotional to remember the sacrifices made by so many American soldiers in that battle.  He doesn’t usually recall the sacrifices on the other side of the battle but I suppose he has a similar outlook to the Colonel in the film: Lord hear both our prayers, but let our side prevail.

War is complex and so has our relationship been.  I used to be able to spend time with him playing golf but then about ten years ago, he injured himself and had to stop playing.  We used to go out for breakfast on weekends but then that started to fade away because it wasn’t really what he wanted to do on a Sunday morning.  He would have rather had an extra hour in bed to read a novel.  And with Covid, I’ve hardly seen him at all, for fear of bringing the virus to him.  It is sad and frustrating when you consider that I left my entire life in the UK to come and spend time with him, while we were still able.

This looks like it will be a long winter and we will be in lockdown again.  Here, where I live, you are allowed to visit outside your home bubble, with your safe one or two people and I’ve decided that my safe two will be my dad and step-mom.  So, maybe now is my time with my dad.  And for that, I’m grateful.

I’m grateful that we could spend some time together and that I’m able to be of service to him in this time.  He has certainly given up a lot of his own desires to provide for 3 children, and 3 grandchildren so it makes me happy whenever I can find some small way that he will allow me to give back.  I’m grateful that I could find something that would bring him pleasure when he’s not feeling so well, and I’m grateful that I know how to manage rising anxiety so that it does not become a panic attack and how to ride the waves of one if it should come.  I’m grateful that I survived the movie with only a slightly queasy tummy.  There are sacrifices in war and in peace times.  These are the things we things we do, for love.

 

Photo: Katarzyna Grabowska

 

For what are you most grateful, today?

 

Ten Thousand Days

We Will Remember Them

November 11, 2020

Photo: Laurentiu Lordache

Day 2274 – Day 2279

We are born in an instant, we fall in love in an instant and we die in an instant.  It is the stories we tell that connect these moments into a lifetime worth remembering.

When I met my Belgian ex-boyfriend, I had some idea of how his mind worked and I had expectations of him based on his age, education and culture.  He dismantled a lot of those expectations.  I remember waiting for him just outside the Grote Market in Antwerp, standing under the giant statue of Rembrandt.  I didn’t recognize him at first.  He was so much more handsome in person and the shock caused me to drop my bag full of my day’s shopping. But I didn’t fall in love then.  It was only when we were sitting in a pub, hours later, after a lovely Tanzanian dinner, a walk beneath the river to view the city, and a stop at another watering hole, that it happened.  And it happened when he said these words:  I love Canadians.  We owe everything to Canadians.  They liberated us in World War I and we don’t forget that here.

My grandfather fought in WWI.  I was told, or remembered or mis-remembered, perhaps, that he was a tail gunner in the war.  I didn’t grow up with my grandparents as a frequent part of my life so I’m sure my cousins will know more of the truth of that story.  But my grandfather served in two wars and I had uncles that were also in the military.  I am always so grateful for their service and their sacrifices.

Today is Armistice Day or what we call Remembrance Day in Canada.  All of the Commonwealth remembers this day on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of the year.  11:11:11.  Take that, Twin Flame community.

On the other side of my family, I come from a community of pacifists and among them would have been conscientious objectors and many who see the wearing of a poppy of remembrance as a symbol that glorifies war.  I’m grateful that my mother was not one of them and so I wore the red poppy every year like all the other children in school and I prayed along with them for the fallen soldiers of all wars.  I don’t glorify war and I do remember the soldiers who were undoubtedly crying for their mothers or sweethearts in those scary trenches just before going over the top and too often, to their death.

I’m grateful that my Belgian ex-boyfriend took me to the poppy fields of Flanders, to a preserved section of the trenches of the Ypres Salient, to the Tyne Cot cemetery full of commonwealth soldiers who gave their lives, to the In Flanders Fields museum in Ypres (Ieper) and to the Menin Gate at 8 pm for Last Post.  I cannot hear the trumpet call of Last Post without crying for all the sacrifice of lives and our continued warring nature.  Oh, I’m grateful that I was able to see the places I learned of as a child and hear the stories of ordinary young men and women whose lives were torn apart by war.  I’m grateful to have had the opportunity to walk through a section of the trenches and imagine the horror of wet feet for months, rats running about and the prospect of death, over the top.  I’m grateful for the story of the Christmas cease fire, where Germans and the Commonwealth and American soldiers played football instead of shooting one another.  That one story gives me hope that peace can happen, even in my lifetime.

I hear a lot about “letting go of our stories”.  I get where this is coming from and it’s noble to want to achieve our highest potential and remove our limiting beliefs about ourselves.  But, as we remove our limiting beliefs we must remember not to remove the empowering stories of who we are.  In the words of my friend and fellow writer, TCBC, it is our stories and our ability to tell stories that makes us human.

I am the granddaughter of a war hero and the great great niece of a martyr to pacifism.  The story of my ancestors shaped me into an open-minded and tolerant person.  As I age, I become naturally less tolerant than I was at one time but I’m more tolerant than many who are just starting in life.  I appreciate that about myself and I know that it is one source of equanimity in my life.  As we remember them, those who have fallen, it would do them a disservice NOT to seek to be more tolerant of one another, more cooperative towards achieving common goals and values and more earnest in our efforts to wage peace.

 

For what are you most grateful, today?

Ten Thousand Days

Anniversaries

November 5, 2020

Photo: Dariusz Sawkowski

Day 2238 – Day 2273

This time of year holds a lot of anniversaries for me.  Some are sweet and some are horrible.  It starts in September and goes through November.  I’m fortunate to say that the season ends with some sweet anniversaries.  Last week, it was my parents’ wedding anniversary.  Had my mother lived, they would have been married 70 years.  Seventy years.  As it was, my mother died 1 year short of her 40th wedding anniversary.  I can’t imagine all the ups and downs, the sacrifices, the joys and heartaches that would have accompanied 40 years together, let alone 70 years.  I wonder, if my father, who misspelled my name recently, remembered the anniversary.  He’s been remarried for nearly 30 years, himself, and his memory isn’t what it used to be.  He’s not the kind of man that would tell me, if he remembered, but I do know that when the memory begins to go, those things that happened 40 or 70 years ago are the things that are most clearly remembered.

I could have reminded him but I believe that whether someone chooses to remember or forget something about their life is their own choice.  We all cope with memory and markers in our life in our own way.  I’d gladly forget the events of 9/11 or the violent crime that I survived in October of 2007.  I remember, in private, my traumas just as I celebrate, in private, my parents’ anniversary and my mother’s birthday, lest it make others around me sad, to be reminded.

Last year, I was not well, and so I did not get to mark her death anniversary in July or her birth anniversary in November.  This year, I quietly remembered her day in July while I worked in my garden.  This year, for her birthday, I have resurrected a tradition to go on an adventure “with” her.   There is little adventure to be had in the midst of a pandemic.  There will be no fancy London tea room for afternoon tea, or an evening in Key West for the sunset or an exhibition of Caravaggio art works in Budapest.  We could not drink tea in the shadow of the Hagia Sophia, but we did get to have an adventure.  You can hear about it and see some photos on my YouTube channel.

Anniversaries are a kind of mixed bag.  On the one hand, are they keeping us locked in a past that we’ve outlived, drawing us back into a cycle that we’d rather escape?  Or, are they the way that we make sense and meaning of our lives?  One might say the violent episodes that mark my autumn every year are the ones best left in the past.  But, as much as I’d like to forget them, I do reflect every year on the bonds of friendship that were formed that September in 2001.  Every year I reflect on how I survived the events of October 2007 and sought (but ultimately failed to receive) justice.  I reflect not on victimhood but on survival.  And while I work to unlearn the stories I tell myself about myself and how I managed my traumas, I do enjoy remembering my mother and reflecting on how my life has been so different to that of my mother’s and how she has been a model of strength, bravery and kindness for all the women who came after her, in her family, whether they were conscious of her influence or not.  We are the story our ancestors tell and we have the chance to retell and reshape the story every time we remember them.

I’m grateful for anniversaries.  I am not a person that spends her mental energy on shallow thoughts and so anniversaries and birthdays give me pause to stop and think about relationships in my life, on the events of my life and how they’ve shaped me, and, in making meaning of them, how I have re-shaped those events.  I’m grateful that I have a mind that tends to be reflective.   I’m grateful that of the few adventures left to us in pandemic times, and I am grateful for my ethereal companion.

Photo: Fred Kearney

For what are you most grateful, today?

Ten Thousand Days

Make A Plan

September 30, 2020

Photo: Daniele Levis Pelusi

Day 2223 – Day 2237

Life just sometimes F’s with your plans.  It’s not like I’m a natural at planning, in the first place.  However, I have had to work hard to learn to work with a values-based time management and life goals plan.  Now, when life comes along and drops a bomb in those plans, I get thrown off balance, despite being someone who naturally likes spontaneity.

Last time I wrote, I was deeply disturbed by an assault on some children that I witnessed.  I’ve reached out to people I know in child protection and learned that I basically did all that I could, save for finding a way to report the man to the police for assault.  It is a huge problem that is happening right now for all vulnerable groups who are forced into more restricted isolation with their abusers.  I’ve looked into volunteering with the Child HelpLine in Canada and while there is a backlog of processing volunteers, my interest in children’s human rights and child protection is long standing and isn’t going to go anywhere.  There will come a day when the organization needs more volunteers.  I have offered my services as a researcher, given that I have a Master’s degree specializing in Child Poverty and Children’s Human Rights.  We will see where that goes.  I am patient and I want to find a way to use my skills and experience to better the lives of children.  If it can’t be in Canada, well, remote working means that I can volunteer my research skills just about anywhere.

I’m behind in writing and I’m behind in posting to YouTube.  The thing is that sometimes life throws up curveballs and we look to our values and reprioritize our plan.  This past week, I’ve had to deal with a lot.  Right now, I’m really tired and in need of a good amount of solitude to process it all.  I hope that I get more than a temporary breather in the onslaught of unexpected crises.

Today the sun is shining and it is going to be another scorcher.  This glorious weather seems quite unusual for essentially the first of October, but I do remember kayaking two years ago on thanksgiving, wearing nothing more than a swimsuit and a t-shirt so who knows what kind of autumn we will have.  I would love a sunny but mild autumn as I’ve started walking 1.5 to 2 miles every evening with a friend, and it is nicer to do when it isn’t scorching hot.  Still, I’m grateful for the weather and for my friend who keeps me company.  I’m also grateful that the season of gardening is coming to an end.  I’ve pulled out a lot of plants but my winter squash, kale, collards, leeks and Brussel sprouts will remain.  The kale and collards might even last me right through the winter.  But constant care will be finished soon and I will retreat into the cave that is my painting studio.  I’m itching to paint and I have been for a couple of months, now.

I have decided not to participate in a couple of group shows.  I’m not interested in painting to their specifications.  I’m working on a body of work and I don’t have any interest in painting anything much smaller than 24 inches x 24 inches.  I’d like to start working on very large pieces.  I’m looking forward to these projects this winter and I’m grateful that I have my artwork and creative projects to stimulate me in the long dark winter that will inevitably see increased pandemic restrictions.

There are several videos that I know I need to make.  I’m simply too tired to record them at the moment but I will.  I’m hoping to have a couple posted this week, but you know how to make God laugh, right?

Make a plan.

 

Photo: Daria Nepriakhina

For what are you most grateful, today?

 

 

Ten Thousand Days

We Don’t Beat Our Children Here

September 15, 2020

Photo: Annie Spratt

Day 2211 – Day 2222

I wrote this post on the weekend and lost it.  Maybe I’m not supposed to be writing about it but I think it is important to put out there.

Last week I went to buy a pair of waterproof walking shoes from a shop that I know fits hard to fit feet.  I have wide feet and so I struggle to find shoes that fit.  When I need a pair of good walking shoes or jogging shoes, this store in the city, close to my old University is where I go.  They have specialists who will look at how you walk and find the shoe that will be best for you and your sport.

When I was finished, I decided to go for a walk along the beach that surrounds my Alma Mater.  As I was nearing the end of my beach stroll, I came upon a father and two teenage girls.  One was probably somewhere between 10 and 13 and the other was easily 14 or older.  The younger one started to cry and I heard the father shout at the older girl:

“Well, you kicked her earlier, you IDIOT!”

I stopped in my tracks, the observer, ready to step in if things escalate.

As soon as I stopped, the father kicked the older girl in the gut, punched her on the arm and pushed her so hard that she nearly fell into the brambles several feet behind her.  It all happened so fast.

“Whoa, Whoa! That’s enough!  Relax!” I said to the man.

“She hit her sister!” He said.

“She is also a child!” I replied.

The man continued to argue with me as to whether she should be able to get away with hitting her younger sister.  I reasoned with him that children misbehave and that is part of being children.  But, it is our job as adults to set the example and act as adults.

And as adults, we don’t beat our children, here, I said.

It all happened so fast and I wondered if I should call the police but I knew that this family would be long gone before they arrived.  I watched the two girls stare in awe that someone had intervened in their private family moment but what the father had not counted on was that his private family moment was happening in public and he was going to happen upon me.

“Oh, so you have someone on YOUR side,” he jeered, directing the comment to the elder of his daughters.

“I am on the side of the children.”  I said.

Unhappy with being outnumbered, I suppose, the father ordered his children to walk onward.  I was helpless and I told the girls: “You can call ChildLine if you are ever in trouble.”

I knew that if he was willing to kick and punch his daughters in public, the daughter was in for a beating when she went home.  I felt sick and utterly helpless.

Normally, I find that aggressive men will beat an adult partner in public but this was the first time I had actually come upon a physical assault on a child in public.  Had I had my wits about me, I would have reasoned with him that children learn from our example and if he wanted to teach the children not to kick and hit one another then kicking and hitting them was not the solution.  Punishing them by cutting off the internet for a few days would be appropriate.  I would have asked him if he needed a break to calm down and I would watch the girls.  Maybe I would have followed him to see if he had a vehicle that I could report to the police and testify to witnessing the assault.  There are many things I could have done, had I had my wits about me.

I studied Children’s Human Rights and Child Poverty in my graduate degree.  I knew that in some countries, corporal punishment is still acceptable.  In the country where I live, it is acceptable to spank your child provided that they are older than 2 and younger than 12.  Beyond that, hitting them is criminal.  Kicking, punching and shoving, however, is not spanking and it was clearly criminal, what this man was doing.

I felt very helpless as the family walked swiftly away.  I’m certain I’m not the only person to have ever felt this way.  I suppose it is why many people just simply choose not to get involved.  Nothing changes.  Maybe we make it worse.

But, I am grateful for one thing.  I know the young man who assisted the founder of ChildLine.  I know about this crisis line for children because I studied in a field related to child protection and advocacy.  I knew enough to tell them the name and if they googled it, they would find this country’s version of the children’s crisis line.

I needed to do more and so as I walked back to my car, I greeted everyone who passed me with good wishes and I chatted to a woman who was learning again to ride a bike.  I had to put some good energy out into the universe to counter the horrible cloud that had puffed up around this man and spread out along the beach.  I am grateful that when I got home, I was able to look up the laws in my city so that I would be better prepared should this happen again.

Recently, there have been many news reports of children as young as 6 years old being taken into custody for having a temper tantrum in school.  Tantrums are not acceptable but they can be a symptom of problems at home and are frequent at certain developmental ages.

I was the only person who came to the aid of those two young girls on that beach. In some states in the USA, it seems that developmental challenges in children is being criminalized.  We are failing our children if we think that as childless adults, or adults who are not parents to these children, we are not responsible for their welfare.  The best interests of the child should be the central organizing principle in all matters concerning minors. The UN Declaration on the Rights of the Child lays that out in no uncertain terms.

I can’t let this incident pass without comment.  I am grateful that I’ve had time to think of some other strategies to use if a situation like this arises again.  I will have better reasoning skills.  I will know right away to talk to the children directly about resources.  I will know to find some identifying feature and to call the police.  I am grateful for this lesson.

I have more to learn and in the weeks to come, I will be reaching out to social worker friends who are in the field of child protection and I will ask them for additional strategies.  I will be looking for ways to contribute my time to child protection and advocacy, as a volunteer.  We are a civilized society and civilized people who work to build a civil society in which everyone is safe and can thrive.  A big part of that is that we do not beat our children, here.

 

 

For what are you most grateful, today?

 

Ten Thousand Days

Flight Path

September 3, 2020

Photo: Garry Bendig

Day 2202 – Day 2210

My apartment sits in the flight path of thousands of geese.  Every August, I begin to feel the familiar melancholy of the end of the Canadian summer and the oncoming gloom of the rains.  What heralds this change is the sight of geese, flying in formation over my deck.  Lately, I’ve wondered if the geese are drunk.  They fly in formation, heading west.  Then a formation returns a half an hour later, heading south, south-east.  A few times the warm air has deceived them into flying north.  I sit with my coffee on my deck, or working at my desk by my 10-foot living room window, watching and wondering at how they are a metaphor for life.

Whenever change is approaching, I feel it.  Sometimes I feel it for a year before it happens.  Change has certainly taken us all by storm this year, but what I’m talking about is inner change and the outward manifestation of moving house across the world, starting a new career, falling in love, or embarking on an advanced degree.  All of these are choices that we make, when we are ready to make them.  Before we are ready, we might feel like the drunk geese, flying in circles, trying to float on the updrafts and feel the currents that will take us to our next destination.

From my last post, you might think I’m sworn off love.  That is not true.  I certainly have a strong focus on the love of the Divine and I’m a crazy romantic who loves love.  I think that what I am doing, however, is slowing down and watching the updrafts that tend to push me in particular directions.  I’m slowing down and looking for south.  I’m trying to feel for the currents that will take me to the man who wants to be challenged to be his best self; the currents that will take me to the man who will inspire and challenge me to be my best self and who will love me and be committed to working together with me to grow from the ways in which we will inevitably trigger one another as we stretch to develop ourselves and to reach our full potential – financially, physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.  Right now, all I am is a drunken goose flying in circles and waiting for that certain moment when I will know the direction and then – only then – will change manifest.

Friends who have known me for years will know that my life often takes them by surprise.  Suddenly, I will announce that I’m moving across the world – next week.  They will attest to the fact that maybe I’ve pondered something for up to a decade, and they never thought it would happen.  What wasn’t apparent was that I was waiting for the defining moment.  Some moments never come and all that pondering was just wondering.  But when that defining moment comes, it is fleeting and I’ve learned to grab that updraft and fly.   Yes, life can take a decade for change to manifest.  I’m hoping that this flight pattern I am in will change soon.  I’m hoping that I will be able to see my way of being in a relationship manifest in a profoundly changed way.  I have certainly been doing my own inner work for a very long time.

Recently, I had – I’m not sure what to call it – a falling out (?) with a man that I care about.  The exact nature of that caring is a bit nebulous as I don’t really know him.  But I do care about him; that is certain.  He has dream-walked with me many times, but after this thing happened between us, he only speaks to me, in my dreams, through his friends.  In waking life, there has been an uncomfortable vibe between us and after a few weeks, I decided to take space.  When I did, the vibe got worse.

He dream-walked again, during the time when I took space.  This time, I was in a foreign prison and he was the warden.  He appeared as a wild-haired version of himself speaking a language that I know was a signal that this dream was “important” emotionally, and spiritually.  In the dream, he shouted at me.  For infractions I had not known that I had committed, and that I did not even know were considered “infractions,” I was condemned to a slow death; ostracized to live out the rest of my days alone on the rooftop, with no shelter.

Since I was a child, I have vowed to never be the prisoner of any relationship or any man.  As an adult, I would add that this applies even to my own shadow masculine self.  The inner masculine is goal directed and active.  He protects the feminine.  The shadow masculine is destructive and abuses power.  Since I had this disturbing dream, I have been working on inviting the shadow masculine to be a part of my life in a creative way.  I’ve been looking for ways to work with power in affirming ways.

I decided to write a letter to the dream walker so that I could put to rest this disagreement.  It carries apology for my part, forgiveness for his, and a purposeful statement of my own value and my own expectation of mutual respect.  It might seem small but it is a shift in the wind and currents of my life.  I am always the peace maker but I make peace by taking on the entire burden of a situation, without setting my boundaries.  That was what was required, in ancient dynamics but it has kept me a prisoner, perched on the roof, unable to fly.

Things in flight are changed the moment it takes flight in a chosen direction.   The place we leave will forever be changed by our absence but the destination remains unchanged and full of potential until that thing, which is in flight, has landed. Through the act of making amends and forgiving, I am free of my prison and have taken flight.  What happens to the warden, when my letter lands, is in his hands.  I care for him and so I pray that he finds a way to release himself from that prison of resentment or fear or whatever he has used to construct it.  Perhaps he will choose to fly with me to a new destination, but if he cannot, I hope he finds his freedom, nonetheless.

I’m grateful for the lessons of nature and for the metaphor they afford me as I sit, watching.  I could have easily flown west or north as I have, in the past, only to find I need to correct my course, never truly finding the direction I need.  I am aloft, and even as the calendar brings change to the natural world, I glide, patiently, waiting for the currents in the air to show me which direction is south and the destination where I will find my new home.

 

Photo: Ian Cumming

 

For what are you most grateful, today?

 

 

 

 

Ten Thousand Days

When Life Was Measured in Moons

August 25, 2020

Photo: Guzman Barquin

Day 2194 – Day 2201

This past full moon, I was out on the water in a kayak.  I had the experience of a lifetime, getting to see bioluminescence at night.  We paddled a lot and it was hard for me because I’m not able to engage my core in the way that I normally do.  For all the distance we covered, I would have been content to simply paddle to the nearest dark cove and spend the night enchanted by the bioluminescence that my own hands created, as I moved through the water.  I felt like I was made of pure electricity – and of course I am.

We often forget the magic that we are.

I thought about a time two or three years ago when my heart was so broken that all I could do was mark time in lunar cycles.  Each time I saw the full moon, it gave me comfort that time passes and things can change.  Eventually, we can feel differently.  The tides didn’t carry me as quickly as I wanted, but they did carry me onward.

By the time that I was in hospital, fighting for my life, a year ago, I had come to really grasp that life was magical, that I had magic in me (we all do) and that life is precious.  I would never waste my time or energy like that again.  I would never let myself fall in love so deeply that he could break me.

Never again would I let my life be measured in moons.

When that relationship first ended, I had said I would never fall in love again.  It was the first time I had ever sworn off love and it didn’t sit well with anyone in my life.  Love is my spiritual path, after all.  Love is the magic that is within me.  But, I nearly died of a broken heart for that love.  No, I meant it.

Some time ago, I realized that I had a magnetic draw towards someone.  It was around the time that I started seeing number patterns everywhere.  I joked that he must be my twin flame.  The joke was on me.  As much as I don’t want to, as much as I resist – and I resist with a force that would shatter steel – I love him.

Of course, twin flame love is not easy love.  He kicks my butt, stomping over my emotional buttons and I know I’ve hurt him.  He is a man that I don’t really know, but he wears walls like they are a comfortable garment, and there was a time when there was just a narrow hedge between us and we could smile and wave at one another over the top of the hedge.  Now, it is a brick wall and it has the feeling of impenetrable permanence.  No amount of love or light that I can beam at that wall feels like it can ever penetrate it.  I am learning to love him unconditionally, as I see him in my mind’s eye, sitting on the other side of the wall, turned away, in sadness, wanting to be loved and keeping me out.  Maybe when I am dead and gone, he will remove a single brick and look out for me, never to find me, in this lifetime.

I want to be loved by someone, in return.  I’m not going to stand at anyone’s wall trying to break through. My energy and my magic is too precious, and I deserve to be loved. So, I am leaving a note of unconditional love pinned to the wall, and carrying on. Twin Flame love is not for the rookie.

Why did I hurt him?  Because I have my own wall that appears when somebody makes sudden changes in the way they behave towards me.  I have a hard time trusting the authenticity of it.  “Gently, gently” is what I need.  I stay away from Red Flags; My trust needs to be earned.  I will never love that vulnerably, I will never let anyone hurt me so deeply, and my life will never be measured again in moons.  And yet, I do, I am, and life is.  Love, real unconditional love, is not for the rookie heart.

Last week we had a new moon and I set my healing intentions on it.  I love a man who, it seems, will never be trusting (or trustworthy, because the two go hand in hand) and to whom I am eternally bound.  There is another man who is kinder to me than anyone I’ve ever known.  He quietly takes care of me and asks nothing in return.  He protects me and gently cares for me and maybe, in time, I can open my heart to him.  I’m really not sure.

Two men pulling in different directions.  I am pulled to the one who repels me and pulled toward the one I keep at arm’s length.   I’m not able to navigate this crazy mess of human love.  All I can do is love unconditionally and hope I can pull up anchor.  I’m just letting the cross-currents of these two men turn me in a gentle circle, towards my own heart, like a dervish turns to her Beloved.  There lies the path of True Love.  While I gaze at the stars, I try to find a new way of navigating this lifetime: one with an awareness of the moon’s pull, but one which plots a course that follows the stars.  Sure, I’m grateful to be cared for by one man and for the difficult lessons that the other man brings.  I’m grateful to have the chance to be on the water and in the water and to witness my own magical luminescence.  There is a time for oneness with another and maybe one day I’ll get it right, but now is the time to witness and wonder at where I am meant to go, and to follow the stars where they will guide me.  The story of love begins with loving my own way home, plotting a course through my own broken heart.

 

Photo: Blake Carpenter

For what are you most grateful, today?

 

Gratitude, Love, Milestone, Ten Thousand Days

6 Years of Gratitude

August 17, 2020

Photo: Natasha Welingkar

Day 2193

What a year this has been!  As always, this anniversary sort of crept up on me.  I knew it was coming but this time of year seems to always be so busy that I never find the time to sit down and plan anything special.  It was a miracle that I managed to plan a party for my first year anniversary.  I am sure that I would not have managed it if it had not been for the gentle prodding of friends.

I like birthdays and last year’s 5-year marker was a big one.  I spent the first half of year 6 just being grateful to be alive.  Little did I know that 2020 would bring a string of news stories that would make me want to crawl into bed for at least the rest of the year.  In the end, I’m still grateful for the same thing: to be alive.

I had been struggling with a sense of boredom when, this past year, I hit another milestone and it was a daunting one.  I passed the 2,000 day mark and having spent 1/5 of the time to which I had committed, I wondered: what have I really achieved for the cause of gratitude, in this time?  In this past year, I have started a YouTube channel and I have been creating gratitude related content on a regular basis.  That trial by fire was a great way to get rid of boredom.  But it is hard to measure impact when the goal is simply to practice for a certain number of days.  Measuring impact is something I will be giving some attention in the coming year.  There is no way to increase impact (except by a fluke of luck) without measuring it.

During this past year, it also became clear to me that I am being called to write the stories of love.  I don’t mean some Harlequin romance novel.  I mean that I am being called to bring love to the forefront of my gratitude practice.  I think I struggled with this idea, initially, because I had been burned by love.  But, one terrible romance cannot get in the way of a whole way of being that is at the centre of my spiritual life.  And so, I am being called to bring my spiritual path of love to the gratitude table.

I thank you for 6 great years together and I hope that you will continue into the 7th year and an exploration of gratitude and love, together.

Photo: Carolyn V

 

For what are you most grateful, today?

 

 

Ten Thousand Days

In the Shadows that Are Not Shadows

August 15, 2020

Photo: JR Korpa

Day 2179 – Day 2191

My mother comes to visit, in the shadows that are not shadows.  I see her in the space behind me, out of sight but not out of sense.  She comes when I’m in trouble.  I know that she has something to tell me.  This time, I can’t focus to listen.

I feel guilty that for two years now I have not taken her with me, on an adventure, to remember her on the day she died.  Last year, I was fighting for my life.  This year, I was trying not to remember how close to joining her I came.  Denial never works for long.

And she is here this week.  This week when all the medical tests that have been postponed over and over again finally happened.  This week when one of the remaining surgical procedures that I needed has happened.  This week when I’ve spent days wandering a fog-filled landscape somewhere between waking and sleeping.  This is the week she appeared.

I spoke to her as I descended into a physical detox of suffering and shaking and told her: talk to CMF (1000 miles from me), because I am in no state to try to walk the spirit world.  Tell him what it is I need to know.  He will hear you.

She talked to him, and he heard her simple message.  It was a message that I knew.  There was no need to hear it.  From the shadows that are not shadows, it was there, in my consciousness already.

My mother comes to me when I’m in trouble.  My spirit was vulnerable this week – a week that was far more physically toxic than I had ever imagined it would be.  And my mother protected me, as only a mother will.

Sometimes it doesn’t take 3 things for which we are grateful or a moment of joy and oneness to know how blessed we really are.  Sometimes it just takes a visit from a mother who has been gone from this earth, for nearly twice as long as I had her in the flesh.

Photo: Guille Pozzi

 

For what are you most grateful, today?

Ten Thousand Days

My Quota is Filled

August 2, 2020

Photo: Jezael Melgoza

Day 2174 – Day 2178

“My quota of nonsense has been filled.  If you have nonsense to share with me, you’ll have to queue up for the next life.”

Someone said this is the attitude that I give off, lately.  To be fair, it is the attitude I tend to give off,  in a business setting, whenever I am met with nonsense.  I don’t suffer fools gladly, which makes me rubbish at sales.

If crisis and complex emergency teaches us anything, it is that, in a world of finite resources and challenging logistics, we need to establish what is the quota of stock we can store for the needs of ourselves and our charges, how much warehouse space we can spare for scrap stock, and how we will distribute the most valuable resources.   In good times and in bad, if we are to achieve what it is we came here to do, if we are to have a fulfilling life and to leave a legacy, then we must ration our physical resources, our time, our attention and our effort.  Love – we have that in plenty.  But when we ration the other things, where we spend our love gets focused as well.

My mother was the kindest and most tolerant person I’ve ever known and I developed those qualities through her example.  These are great qualities and I would never want to lose them.  What she didn’t really teach me, however, was how to recognize and minimize the nonsense of the time-wasters or how to recognize and back a good investment.  We don’t always have the ability to discern which will be a good investment, in the long run, but there are some criteria we should apply to our decision-making process.

We want to give where we feel there is some possibility of seeing a satisfying return.  If we’re talking about a relationship, there is nothing worse than finding yourself in the position of doing most of the work to initiate or perpetuate a bond between two people. If there is anything worse, it occurs when all they bring is scrap.  I’ve come to the conclusion that it is better to spend time alone than to spend time with someone who does not invest, valuably, in me.  I have often found that the best investments I’ve ever made have been those that I’ve made in myself.

If, however, we are talking about where we’d like to spread generosity, I look for those who are as willing to invest value into themselves as I am to invest in them.  A key value in my work-life is to develop others and there is nothing more soul destroying than to invest in someone who is dedicated to self-sabotage.

Maybe it was my brush with death last year.  Maybe it is this global pandemic and economic crisis.  Maybe it is one too many exhausting relationships.  Whatever it is, I’ve reached my quota of nonsense and I have no more tolerance for it.  My focus is on the fair and wise distribution and deployment of the assets in my warehouse.

I’m grateful for that wonderful observation that has given me a useful image to call to mind, whenever I am tempted to squander my resources.  I’m grateful for the gifts my mother bestowed on me so that I have valued resources to share.  I’m grateful that I have reached my limit.

 

For what are you most grateful, today?

 

Ten Thousand Days

Rusted Sentiments

July 28, 2020

Photo: Kevin Noble

Day 2167 – Day 2173

I was doing some research into search terms and found that the biggest hits on YouTube for gratitude were 5 or more years ago.  And yet, the world is still full of unhappiness, discontent and loneliness.

I also notice that the things that people seem to pay attention to are not simple and effective tools.  We’ve become so conditioned to highly produced television and film, immersive entertainment experiences and virtual reality that everything must be ‘packaged’ in order to sell.

I have mad respect for some of the non fiction gurus like Brené Brown and Simon Sinek and I notice Brené has the magic of taking home-spun truths and making them pithy and memorable, with catch phrases and acronyms.  Simon Sinek does the same with unexpected word combinations and grand sounding concepts that are essentially ancient wisdom wrapped up in LED lights.

LED lights are just a distraction.  Gratefulness is free.  Gratefulness is easy.  Gratefulness is transformative.

Nobody is searching for ‘gratitude.’  What surprised me more, when I did some research this morning, is that nobody seems to actually be searching for ‘happiness’ either.

If not happiness, what, then are people seeking?

Gratitude is an old-fashioned word.  You might call it a rusted sentiment.  I studied marketing in college, and I’m grateful for those skills, but I’m just more substance over style.  Maybe that’s just snobbery.  Maybe it’s a little bit of fear.

If I were a “YouTuber,” it would make sense to change my brand and niche.  If I were a writer aspiring to write for the New York Times, it would make sense to try to appeal to the hipster.  After all, gratitude is something that really grows with the ability to take a perspective on life.  Perspective, like wisdom, comes with time.  While we may appreciate being middle-aged with middle-aged thinking, only the new and youthful seems to trend.

I need to serve the message as best I can but trying to be trendy for the sake of popularity would be without purpose.   I’m not using gratitude as a vehicle to get famous for my skills.  I’m using my skills as a way to make gratitude a global movement.

I guess for that, I’m going to have to learn to play the game a little bit better.

Maybe, I’m too sentimental for my own good but I would like to live in a world where the go-to response to life is cooperation instead of competition, abundance instead of striving, and gratitude instead of lack.  Maybe together we can turn Joan Baez on her head and find not rust on the memory of Bob Dylan’s diamonds, but the diamond of happiness in that un-hip and rusty sentiment of gratitude.

(What can I say?  I have loved this song since I first heard a young busker play it on the South Bank in London just 5 years ago  – proof that each generation can re-invigorate worthy ideas).

 

 

For what are you most grateful, today?

 

 

Ten Thousand Days

Circles

July 21, 2020

Photo: Robert Lukeman

Day 2160 – Day 2166

I wrote a thousand-word essay for today but I’m keeping it for myself and won’t post it.  When I feel something deeply, I am not inclined to talk about it.   While I may have fallen for the beautiful boy, I am not Ovid’s creation.  I will not be his Echo.

Right now, the ground beneath our feet is broken and so to reveal my heart would be perilous.  Things could spill out and fall through the cracks in the mantle of this world; parts of me might be swallowed by the earth and lost forever.  Or, he could swoop in, the seductive Trickster, and fly off with parts of me, never to be seen again; a kind of carrion that feeds his magic, without reverence for the Feminine.

I’ve got the heel of my soul stuck in a crack in the pavement. So, I walk in circles.  There is a spiritual harmony to circles and a rhythm that draws me inward on a spiral path.   I am descending into the unconscious, a land of images and symbols.  Listen to the drum and travel with the sacred bear to find the gift that will bring freedom.

Words are useless here. And yet, I owe a story.

I’m grateful for the land of symbol that cannot be captured.  I appreciate my readers who have borne witness to this journey.  I am thankful that I can trust you to keep the light on, upstairs, as I venture into the cellar of my psyche to rescue what needs rescuing and to discard what is no longer needed.

I will return, as Persephone, bearing blossoms.

Photo: Ava Sol

For what are you most grateful, today?