Unravelling the Miraculous

Almost Midnight (Who Are You Now?)

2011-12-31T15:02:00.000-08:00

Over there, You! The Un-evolved!
Hurry up it's almost midnight-
Don't go too far, it's almost here
- the New Year Door's alight

Cast your spells
Take off your hat
And surrender to what calls-
The wicked,
war torn,
the careful clown
- if you hear it then it's yours

You broken, weary,
December spent,
you tired of the darkness-
The time has come
to bury ghosts
And surrender
to your softness

You and me
and I
and We
All we want is newness
For skins to shed
For fun in bed
And cash enough for coffee

And so we come
And so we dance
And so we kiss at twelve

And bitten nails
And timid tails
Into this trickiness we delve

So, Unevolved!
Come, one.
Come, all!
Be hopeful.

We're almost there-
We've come so far-
- thankful,
For this graceless fall

Welcome to New-ness

2011-11-18T22:20:00.000-08:00

I am ready for my life to change. My clothes are in a pile, living in limbo between drawers, a suitcase and a busy floor. This place that was once so solidly my home is a transient station between movements.

My visa arrived today. It announces that I am to marry US citizen Salvatore Francesco Interlandi within 90 of my arrival into the United States of America. I am immigrating. I am marrying. I am shifting my axis completely.

This new arrival is my rebirth. My name and earthly coordinates change come Wednesday. A life begins. Skin is shed. Fear is replaced with love and I am still myself but even more fully as I step into the ultimate unknown; it is foreign yet totally in alignment with the hopes and dreams of my authentic self as lover, adventurer and artist. I have never felt more fully supported by the universe in a decision.

No longer am I slave to spiritual expectation. My enlightenment is unfolding in the smallest and silliest of ways. The comings together are a paradox of hilarity and gluttonous ease. It is simple and efficient in its unfolding. Alongside the laborious paper work that allows my border crossing is a self-acceptance that once I arrive I both pick up where I left of and completely start over.

I embrace the anxiety that comes with being on the cusp of everything I have ever wanted.

"But Charlie, don't forget what happened to the man who suddenly got everything he always wanted. " –Willy Wonka

"What Happened?” –Charlie Bucket

"He lived happily ever after." -Willy Wonka.

The Belly of the Wave

2011-10-31T11:22:00.000-07:00

Yesterday a great friend remarked in a tone that perfectly balanced trust and anguish, "I just never know what to do when my life is put in a blender like this". All at once she was forced to move due to unsafe conditions in her rented apartment, during the middle of exams, a week before starting a new job, all the while awaiting the birth of her friend's second baby at which she is committed to being the birth partner...

Forever cosmically connected and closely mirroring her hopeful chaos, I too stare at the multi-coloured metaphorical cocktail (mine is definitely spiked!) my life is sure to produce in the coming weeks. Facing the brightly lit interrogation rooms promised by US immigration services, relocation to one of the biggest and craziest cities in the world, a surrendering of the personal and professional safety net, and of course... the biggest and boldest shift- marriage.

What is this silence right before the roar of the crowd? The pinprick the first star makes in the dark blue as sky shifts to night? The pause before the inhale, the morning stretch before day comes rushing in, the taste the tongue reaches for as you inhale the aroma of a freshly baked loaf... I am living in the almost-there. In the almost here. So focused on the future, asking questions of what is to become of me- it's all I can do to remember to sleep and eat; all the while knowing that soon I'll be "there" and once I am I'll find myself in selfish moments wishing I was "here" in the safe silence before everything was different.

So forever it becomes about Now. The sacred promise of change means that this will never be again, while This is all there is. But I decided quite a while ago that although I will always lean heavily on my wisdom, hoping to live it more and more each day- I am a human in the tumult of constant shift. I pray and run and let my dreams dance wildly, and as it does, the clock chimes when it feels like it and sometimes I hear it and sometimes I don't.

Bound to my little life, I embrace the worry and the anxious feelings in my tummy. I forgive the crazy makers in my mind and give gratitude for the righteousness that seems to order the chaos. Because what my friend really meant was "I hope I like the taste of this when the blender has finished blending". Me too!

But for now I getting lost in the whirr of the blades and do my best to prepare my palate for what could be a very interesting concoction..

Wise Ones

2011-09-25T00:30:00.000-07:00

During a recent writing assignment I had to write two letters to myself: one from 80 year old me, and one from 8 year old me. The funny part is, they were almost identical in their content! They both urged the importance of fun and play, and they both warned of the dangers of stasis and over analysis.

The answers are clear: go to bed earlier, embrace your day, eat well, move your body, align yourself with people and situations that feel good, work hard, don’t worry so much, live simply, explore, feed your bliss, be kind, be patient, make love not war, don’t over indulge in computers and television, practice gratitude, drink water, be good to the earth, take care of yourself like you are your own child, play, try scary things, question limits, listen more, spend a little time alone every day, call your grandparents on Sundays, keep a clean home, floss, stretch, sing, dance, spend $20 on a bottle of wine once a week rather than $10 on a bottle every day, hope for things, find and follow your personal mythology, spend time in nature, don’t drive too fast…

Like a moody teenager yelling “I KNOW!” to their well meaning mother, we act out and selectively forget this intuitive truth when days and minds get busy and for whatever reason we let the pile of dirty clothes grow in the corner of the room. We know what feels good and what does not. Like endorphins flowing through the body after a long run, life endorphins pump just as hard when taxes are complete or a spontaneous solitary walk finds us just a little more able to be where we are.

For some reason we like to punish ourselves, we like to wait until the once surmountable becomes insurmountable. Running on the adrenaline of “I can’t believe I’ve gotten away with ignoring this for so long” we scramble to shove things in corners and half way handle our business to a passable degree. We all do it in some area or other of life. “I’m just not financially savvy” or “I’m more cerebral than physical”, or “I just don’t have the time”, we tell ourselves all these things and more, continuing to veil the truth that if we actually got shit done we would have a lot more time to fulfill our heart’s desires.

And isn’t that a terrifying thought?

I don't get it...

2011-08-31T14:50:00.001-07:00

I never cease to be amazed at how much of ourselves we negotiate away for what we feel is correct behavior. Even in the tenderest of relationships there is an energetic exchange that when awareness slips, easily tumbles into negotiation territory. We want to love, support, mediate and encourage. We want to heal past hurts and forge new relationships and remain always open to ever shifting change. But there needs to be a centre to it all.

Balance and paradox are the tweedle-dee and tweedle-dumb of growth. We strive to be our own centre but never self-centered. We hear the wisdom in creating boundaries but then we try to live without fear and what are boundaries if not constructs of fear? Living on the earth to me means living with a willingness to engage with all of it, including the shit. But staying connected to the sky means that I often see the shit from miles away and cannot believe that I will inevitably embroil myself in it.

There is striving and reaching alongside release and effort-less flow. Is the inhale the easy part or the hard part? It takes just as many muscles to let go. I read recently that it is always easier to do the work than stay blocked. But we are tied to ourselves so intrinsically that our blocks are our work and our work is the expression of the block- they are as married as the pearl in the slimy oyster.

The dirt of living is the heart of living. There are fields of flowers growing across our chests with every breath. And in every need to be received is a need to give something of ourselves; there is tender intention in and amongst all our tired reasons. We are making excuses all the time for not knowing ourselves well enough. I was late because… why was I late? I am mad because… fuck you, I don’t know why but I am so leave me alone. We must dirty ourselves and face the broken terra-cotta pots of experience that line the soil in the soul of our through line, for they give breath to the fusion of water and earth and allow for new growth.

Blessings be to never understanding and always trying to. Blessings be to the paradox in the mystery of why we were given minds and hearts big enough to ask the questions but too small to handle the answers. Blessings be to the miraculous in the journey of humanness.

Here. Now.

2011-07-30T20:47:00.000-07:00

What happens when a moment loses its potency? How do we transcend expectation and be free enough to feel our way through it as empty as it may seem? Do I have the courage to face this kind of work?

The theatre is a sacred space: a chapel where collective imagination is the god to which we pray together. We rejoice in the resonance of truth, we recognize our humanness in transcendental archetypes and come together to forgive the parts of us that are the villain and applaud the meat of us that is triumphant hero.

As actors we enter into a contract with ourselves, our colleagues, the audience and the muses of the moment. We are humans that promise to be vessels for shamanic interventions. Getting out of our own way to allow for this kind of transformation is difficult to learn and unfortunately rarely practiced with diligence and self honesty. A rare few aspire to be invisible save but the physical body that carries these messages. Most relish in the lights and the curtain call; this kind of ego-based environment does not leave much room for those that yearn to disappear in the collective landscape.

We wrestle with the impulse to win, to get it right, to be approved of. Most give in completely and a creative experience quickly turns into an energetic tantrum competition with the winner gaining the attention he/she sought but losing a part of what called them to this path in the first place. When I catch myself in this cycle of suffering I feel like a spoiled child. The artist within me retreats and cowers in the corner afraid to come out for fear of being squeezed to produce the sweet milk that powers her.

The artist within me rejects the reward based system entirely, but the human woman longs to succeed not really knowing what that would even look like. Fear of lack is the greatest destroyer of love, art and inner vibrancy. I am I enough? Is this moment enough?

How could a moment ever lose potency? It is new and full and ripe every time. Present moment-ness is the single greatest skill required to live well, on and off stage. The courage to live this way, completely open to what may be, is found where? The courage to forgive ourselves for forgetting is found where? The irony is, it is found in the present moment. Empty, full, alive or dulled down, however we feel is real and valid. It’s coming from somewhere. That is the place we must begin from at all times: wherever we are NOW.

I pray for release. I pray for the grace required to let go and be where I am. Here. Now.

Your Love

2011-07-12T23:07:00.000-07:00

The night following your death
a fast dark storm
blew across the lake

Sending me
and a bottle of your favourite
cinnamon whisky
into the basement
awaiting Oz-like
teleportation

But it was over
As fast as it rolled in

And outside,
the rain soaked trees,
with their lightening scorched branches,
basked in the golden light
of calm and almost dusk.

I found myself alone
In the eerie still-
Amazed by the earths response
To your passing:

A cacophony,
An operatic ode to you,
A violent transformation
of energy,
turned in on itself
to become this
yellow light of peace.

And just as I started
to get the joke
You chimed in
with a zinger of your own-

A double rainbow
Shining above my tear-stained face

You were smiling,
Twice.
Upside down,
but smiling.

You were smug and sweet
up there-
It suited You.

And as I watched You
Fade into the dusty sky
I wondered aloud
“Granddad, can you hear me?”

Crack! Crack! Crack!
Hot white lightening
Shook the pink whispers
Of clouds
Beneath
Your melting, double grin.

Okay, I get it-
You will never leave me-
Us-

You are father, husband, friend
And most certainly: Granddad
Of Epic
Fairytale proportions

Happily ever after
With your love as your legacy-

Your love:
It has the power
To rip the sky open
And then sing it softly to sleep.

Welcome to Oz, Granddad.

Beings of the Sun

2011-06-30T22:59:00.000-07:00

There is a certain something present in all things: an essence, a resonance, a history of associations, a feeling that rings true. We are called to answer. We are blood beings. A band of merry followers of the sun, we march on toward the light.

Can we learn this essence? Can we go towards the tricks of light while making footprints on sand and trail? Earth and sky, can you resolve your differences and be unified in providing a safe haven for dimension traveling entities?

I have learned things here. I know that love is real and when invested in, returned in buckets and barrels. I know that we are pushed and pulled by inner workings whose intentions are rarely revealed until their final reckoning. I know that the things we are told to reach for are rarely the things that end up being those we wish we’d focused on. I have learned that most of my friends and I are dealing with first world problems that provide us with the unique opportunity to expand in a way that goes beyond survival.

There is many a thread to pull here. Unraveling must take place if expansion is desired. This can be uncomfortable for both the unraveled and the spectators of this self imposed blood sport.

We talk in tongues, metaphors and ambiguous diagrams. We are seekers, first-rate warriors of need. I am hopeful that my own flailing about in the mire of it all will somehow provide solace for those nubile adventurers who fear the isolation that often accompanies the search. I want it to be clear: your questions are valid. This is a confusing place that does not lend its paradigms well to the dissolution of boundaries and the innate need to connect.

Pray for us.

Honour the elders of this endeavour.

I am here in a solitary cry to the sun. It is my chant, my mantra, a war cry that responds to the hurt world. You are already healed. You are in flux. There is beauty in the humanity of pain. Be released in the horror of the moment. The next will roll and it will be winter, spring, summer, autumn again.

A Love Like Yours

2011-05-27T16:22:00.000-07:00

“You don’t love me half as much as I love you” said my dying Granddad as I kissed him good bye tonight. “But where could you possibly fit a love like that in your skinny self?” I asked him. “Oh you just blow up your insides like a balloon and you’ll find some space”, he told me.

So that’s what I am going to do; I’m going to blow up my insides like a balloon. I am going to make myself so available to love that hope and soulful self expression in the aid of love will make the material stretch and stretch so more and more love can expand inside of me. I will be the reflection of infinite love in you.

Melodies still escape from Granddad’s parched lips even as he struggles to grapple with what time or day it is. Some things, like love and music, cannot be got at by even cancer or the morphine required to keep its pain at bay. These are potent things. These are tonics for the soul when it is weary from fighting the fight of life. He can receive a kiss from his wife of 57 years that light up his eyes that were drooping only moments before.

We must protect our basic human right to experience these things. We must live kind lives so we can slip eventually into the unknown with illuminated souls that will light the dark uncertain path that lies ahead. We must learn songs so we can sing them to the dying, and we must live with open hearts so that our voices carry not just words but resonant healing sounds, prayers of peace. We must live lives of service so we can know that each soul deserves a kiss goodnight especially in the darkest hour when they are sweaty and smelly and crying for mercy. We must give pieces of ourselves away each time we give and be unafraid that we will run out. We are infinite if we believe it to be true. We must support the lovers, the carers, the artists, the innovators, the healers and those who contribute in little and big ways to the quality of the lives of others.

We hang here by a thread. Our mere existence is miraculous. If I was ever searching for the result of unraveling the miraculous it would be that: to be is to be miraculous and to be miraculous is to be god.

Granddad, may you fall gently into a soft night. Your blend of softness and strength has helped me to recognize what a good man is and your sweetness and spice has taught me the joy that is living. May I honour you everyday as I reach to be me as much as you are so authentically you. And for every breath you have left in your perfect human incarnation, may the love that surrounds you be a healing balm when the daggers in your bones start their work.

Blessings be to the sick and prayers of strength to the people that care for them.

And for the young, for the vibrant and very much alive: may we know our true power, may we meditate on death in order to understand without fear the delicious temporal gift of life.

I burn to know a love like yours Granddad. Thank you for being my teacher, I can’t wait to kiss you tomorrow.

Marriage Blessing

2011-04-29T15:09:00.000-07:00

you are here for me
to call the half of you forth
that has been hidden from yourself
since child-like wonderment
and curiosity
vanquished itself in favour of the world

i need this half of you
the hidden half
the half that connects
the half that knows,
the intuitive touch,
the soothing balm,
the all knowing lover

this is the half of me that you called forth,
the reason i am able to be where I am,
how I am staying connected to the source of strength.
you have reignited and reunited me with myself
in your perfect wholeness that I see
coming to the surface in your eyes.

these halves of ourselves
are the healers we are
the healers; we are here to heal each other
with love.

Diving for Buried Treasure

2011-04-26T05:46:00.001-07:00

There are some seriously hard truths out there. Truth is hard a lot of the time. Truth is truth, it rips you raw and bare. It lays you down and shows you how you feel about what you see in the world. It makes it clear that you are not me and nor am I you. Which is too bad for us because you look to me as if you have it all figured out which is comforting to me and what I cling to when I feel like an ugly duckling caught in an oil-spill. And I know what you’re thinking when you look my way and I’m sorry friend, but you’d be wrong there. I cannot be your lifeboat, your guarantee for anything really. I know less than nothing all the while trying to figure out everything. I’m a master of disguise in the pursuit of understanding. I submerge myself into the thought waves of whatever my current obsession is so much so that I become unrecognizable to even myself. Eventually, of course, I emerge back up in human form but with a few curiously placed bruises and absolutely no recollection as to how I obtained them.

Experience to Experience I hop and I dive, feeling ever more crazy as I descend and ascend but somehow ever more full of the knowledge that I will come back to myself and actually come further and further closer to myself then before I set out. There is often this curious notion of ascension in spiritual practice. I have come to think of it more in some sort of aquatic terms than as any kind of mountaineering activity. Searching seems so much of the time as if one is deep in some seaweed ridden patch of ocean, grabbing one’s way forward, sometimes being forced to swim deeper and deeper down into the depths. But there is forward motion here. Always forward momentum no matter how dark and murky the waters. We will emerge victorious and lungs will fill again. We might be weary but we’ll make it. Eyes will sting from salt and the sudden burst of sunlight but they will adjust to see and help us back to shore before the ocean calls again. I am writing from inside the curl of the wave, I have been diving for quite sometime now; I've always been comfortable in water.

Take me, take me in your currents; I will learn your highways and grow gills so I can play longer in your benevolent wildness. Teach me of your sweetness and your strength. Life is playing itself out in the great drama of the tides, the ebb and flow, the shallow and the deep, the holy chamber of consciousness.

Are We There Yet?!

2011-03-17T08:15:00.000-07:00

This entry is a response to the following ponderings/inquiries of a dear dear friend; I couldn’t possibly pass on the challenge of “riddling her this!”:

Always that question of "well how much do I strive for this, do I almost doggedly pursue this life I want, upon writing out my values vs. letting things be, letting things take their course, trust that whatever I'm going through now is meant to be so I can learn the lessons I need to, hoping that the right conversations with the right people will fall into place at the right time and I’ll fall into a perfect opportunity of what I'm seeking."
?????????
How do you just leave things to 'chance' when you can't help but want to live passionately, pursuing the things you really want.... Love! Passion! Desire! Enlightenment in whatEVER form you seek.....is there something so wrong with the pursuit of happiness.....this 'deep state of true and total love'?

Riddle me THAT oh wise one!!!

Oh dear friend, oh dear self, oh dear EVERYONE who is admirably seeking the sweet spot where passion meets least resistance, where the ease of life breathes into the lungs of NOW. How do we get there? Where is there? And when we strike upon this natural wellspring of possibility and purpose what prayers must we say, what dance must we offer up to the gods of grace to be allowed permission to stay in the eternal dawning?

I used to live in a magical world. I had thrown myself only semi-willingly down a rabbit hole of Wonderland like proportions and I strolled down no normal street, only yellow brick roads bouncing to the beat of the question marks exploding out of my heart onto that Technicolor concrete.

I had experienced what many have referred to as a “healing crisis”. Others may have called it depression or anxiety or some other equally vague and unhelpful label, but I called it, even during the most terrifying moments, a psycho-spiritual intervention. It was as if my spirit was floating outside of my body and would on occasion dive back in and rattle at my ribcage yelling “This is not the place for you! Change your life!”

This went on for months. It began shortly after I had started reading Elkhart Tolle’s The Power of Now in the doorway of my kitchen in London. Summer rain was bouncing off the grey English city streets, it was warm and sticky; on a Canadian field or mountain top this kind of spontaneous natural dance of the sky might be welcomed, but in city clothes getting on and off buses it was best experienced as a voyeur. The moody sky darkened further without my noticing and just as I was finishing a sentence that read something like “all we have to do is be present with the currents of the body and we will find everything we need is here in the power of Now” when CRACK! Sheet lightening illuminated my face, and my puddle-y surroundings. This was no exciting moment of revelation, I freaked OUT running upstairs and throwing the book in a bag refusing to pick it up again until almost a year later.

I knew then that something was awry. But did I listen? Nope. There were truths waiting to reveal themselves but my ears were closed in the name of comfort, fear of inner work and the loneliness and confusion I knew I was bound to face if I went inside and tried to unfold myself and let go. So as it does, life ticked on and I buried myself in work, a relationship, marijuana and other distracters that would point me anywhere but HERE! I couldn’t shake the little voice though, and with increasing frequency and intensity she grew in power and would yell angrily in the night in dreams or solemnly mid afternoon when I was feeling vulnerable and lost. I started feeling these out of body/into body shakedowns and although they felt absolutely real I kept them to myself for fear that I would be judged or misunderstood. Sure enough, when I did attempt to share my plight it was met with brush-offs and “you’re just going through a rough patch” type attempts at making me feel better.

Needless to say, it did NOT make me feel better. I continued to battle these feelings, sometimes praying they would come back to show me they were real and sometimes shouting at a corner of the room: “Get away from me! I just want to feel NORMAL!” Finally, realizing that I was not going to heed the warnings of these energetic messengers, my body manifested physical symptoms that could not be ignored. It was just days after my 20th birthday that I started having serious heart palpitations with frightening regularity.

My heart?! My physical heart was pounding the messages of my metaphysical heart. I knew after a night curled up in a ball begging for comfort as my heart raced at 140 beats per minute that I needed to change EVERYTHING. Cut a long story short: I quit my job, left my relationship, moved back to Canada and pursued the path that was calling my name. No doctor could find anything physically wrong with me, but an energetic healer who practiced Traditional Chinese Medicine put me on a regiment of healthy food, walking, healing herbs (no marijuana!), and abstaining from television, newspapers and taking in any information that wasn’t totally positive. For the next year I continued to self heal and the result was an abundance of mind/body/spirit revelations and unifications that I had never dreamed possible. The people that came into my life (and drifted out) during this time enriched my ever expanding journey and together we often made magic. I had several more experiences that finally made me throw up my hands and say “FINE! There IS a metaphysical world out there, in here, everywhere and I can either be freaked out every night when I fall asleep or I can have gratitude for the energetic flow and remain open to further unveiling."

One of these experiences (as I was just reminded of by a dear friend) was a beam of light shooting out of the top of my head. Weird, right?! Its pretty hard to ignore that there is more to the world that the physical reality when your face gets hot as you are in the middle of explaining a truth that is revealing itself to you in real time and then the person you are talking to tells you that a white light beam is shooting out of your head. We were talking about doubt and faith and what ratio one needed of each to live realistically in the world. How much should you trust? Is complete trust dangerous? Do you need a certain amount of doubt to navigate this world safely? All of a sudden clarity came, this was no logical conclusion; it was a string I needed to pull to see what was at the end, and as I did, speaking the words that were attached to that string, the energy rose and rose and apparently found its way out of my cranium! The realization/Truth was this:

Rather than having doubt in a person/place/situation/future event, convert that energy to faith… in YOURSELF that you will be able to handle what may come.

Simple, right? But to me, it was a mammoth eureka moment. I had been living in fear that the world would infect my pure spiritual space, or that my magical world was at odds with the “real” world. I was afraid people were going to suck my energy and try and take the light I had been working so hard to find. When actually, it was the fear that was sucking my energy. Soon after this I came across a wisdom teaching that said you can distill everything down to the initial feeling of fear or love. Was this decision made out of fear or love?

Ex: I have to keep this job I don’t totally love because what if the only thing I can find is something I like even LESS or pays even LESS?
- This is a perfect example of fear of lack

A subtler example of fear of lack is indecision. Paralyzed by a multitude of choices and possibilities we freeze afraid that we will choose wrong, that we will miss out on something.

Subtler still is fear of lack manifested in the seeker getting muddled up with all the wisdom out there. These days there are so many systems of thinking and healing that at some point we all get afraid that maybe we are taking the wrong advice! But this kind of fear of lack is two-fold:

1) We are still seeking externally: fear of lacking the inner wisdom that will reveal the right answer for ME at THIS moment
2) That on some level, whatever we are called naturally to do or not do (even if its sit still until we know where to go, or run with abandon until we want to stop) will be the wrong thing.

I do this ALL THE TIME! It is only when the glorious glowing reflection of an ignited soul in the form of one of my amazing friends reveals so truthfully where he or she is at and what he or she is wondering that I see the errors of my OWN ways.

So…

How do you just leave things to 'chance' when you can't help but want to live passionately, pursuing the things you really want.... Love! Passion! Desire! Enlightenment in whatEVER form you seek.....is there something so wrong with the pursuit of happyness.....this 'deep state of true and total love'?

Well, a) You are not leaving it to chance if you live passionately, pursuing the things you really want… in fact if you are doing this then you are pumping a seriously POTENT substance out into the atmosphere because everyone knows that the most attractive (in every sense of the word) thing is when someone loves the life they live. Whether on a date, in a job interview, traveling or riding the bus in the city where you live, if you are radiating this kind of energy you are sure to see that people want a piece of what you got and then its up to you to decide with whom, where and how much you want to give. Always remembering that the law of abundance states that you can give everything all the time if you remain open to receiving everything while you do it.

b) Love! Passion! Desire! Enlightenment in whatEVER form you seek… YES YES AND YES! This sentence just screams that you already have a firm understanding of the fundamental truth that the root of suffering is attachment, which includes attachment to an idea that there is ONE way. Hooray! Maybe seeking the answer to what your passion is turns out to be your enlightenment. Wouldn’t that be annoyingly delicious! And certainly just as RIGHT as someone seeking ego-renunciation or creative freedom? LIVE THE QUESTIONS LIVE THE QUESTIONS LIVE THE QUESTIONS!

And, c)...is there something so wrong with the pursuit of happyness...this 'deep state of true and total love'?

And to that I say, yes. The only worthwhile pursuit is money. And power. Strap on your pant suit and get ready for the eternal treadmill of material desire!

You DORK! Happiness is the most worthwhile pursuit of all. And if you can truly say that happiness is what gets you excited then I am so stoked for you! And jealous. For some reason I need to wear my serious pants when I think about enlightenment… maybe the search for bliss is more like a game of pin the tail on the donkey or pass the parcel than all this quiet sitting and mind clearing. Or maybe it’s both! Or neither!

But it’s probably money. No, money is the answer. For sure.

Yesterday an extremely eccentric French man in camouflage high tops and an electric orange t-shirt told me that fashion designers are like oracles, telling the temperature of the world and manifesting it in what they think people will want to wear as a reflection of how they feel about the ways of the world from season to season. And I believed him. And suddenly an industry that I generally judge and call extraneous was illuminated for me. Oh yeah, I remembered, listen to the little voice… and if she tells you to make a dress, then make a dress! There is no relevant/irrelevant way to spend ones time in the long term OR short term. Everything is joining to create a mass of experience that is YOU and resisting the urge will just make your heart pound. The earth tomorrow could swallow us all. Happiness, go with happiness. It’ll make your skin glow and your heart sing…

Or in the words of someone a lot smarter than me:

We can use everything that we do to help us realise that we're part of the energy that creates everything. If we learn to sit like a mountain in a hurricane unprotected by the truth and vividness and immediacy of simply being part of life, then we are not this separate being who has to have things turn out our way. When we stop resisting and let the weather simply flow through us, we can live our lives completely. It’s up to us.

- Pema Chodron

I used to live in a magical world. Until I got so attached to how magical it was that I needed to pop the bubble and renounce strict spiritual adherences for awhile and just try to live. Eventually I found that I like my magical world better, although it was nice to just let my humanness run wild and not expect so much all the time. There is a lot of pain here, which is too bad. But whether the day feels Technicolor or black and white, things can change in a fraction of a second from delight to sorrow and back again. This is humanness at work. Confusion comes from the luxury of having choice. Asking questions is our birthright and any life lived in the pursuit of anything that pushes the boundaries of inner freedom sounds good to me.

With gratitude for the time I have to spend and the youth I have that stokes the fires of desire for progress I release my prayer for you and for me that we will find the balls to say “I’m already doing it. I’m here aren’t I?”

White Linen Woman

2011-03-08T18:46:00.000-08:00

Maybe I’ll never wear white linen pants.
Or I’ll try,
And at some far flung future garden party
I’ll spill the wine I’m drinking
To make myself feel more at ease,
All over those pristine pants.

Maybe people will never see my truth,
Never see the earnest intention
To be pure
To be full of grace
To be a perfect sight to behold

Maybe people will only see
The awkward eternally under developed woman
That trips and falls
That makes jokes
That tries to sound smart
But talks too much and muddles up her meanings

Maybe I will disappoint you
Or I won’t
But think I have and then act like some blemish
On the dream we once had

Or maybe I will grow into my fullness
Maybe I will release these immature fears
And live in a blaze of irreverent glory
Lighting the dark, worried ego
Who is only the human-half
Of the spirit striving for enlightenment

Maybe I will learn to forgive myself,
And learn to trust you all the way.
Maybe I’ll tell you my most secret fears
One night when our hearts are open
And the wind outside our window
Is fiercely calling back to me my foolishness

Maybe I will one day love myself
So completely
That I can accept your love;
And mixing it with my own
Will create a potent potion of
Reciprocal self-belief
So we never have to be afraid.

We can expect greatness,
Fall short,
Then cradle the innocent child
Who dreamt the dream
That continues to hang, thickening
The air that surrounds
Our weary traveling souls

Just because we’re not perfect
Doesn’t mean we’re worthless.

Thank You

2011-03-01T04:26:00.000-08:00

Let us lie naked in the sweet mud of experience
Dirt bound we writhe
Half open eyes fill with sky
Buoyant blue thrown upon the great canvas of space
Electric shocks from toe to toe
Jump across this fetal shape we make
Reminding us of the space between

We must travel in the warm arms of hope
Bundled, trusting, feeling the tickle of spring
On our outstretched ears that reach to hear
The hatching eggs of swallows

Thoughtless, breath in, full and fresh
Guiltless in the throws of effortless being
There is no work in the letting of the river
Take us in its clever stream and deposit
Us on the sun speckled banks where our
Great picnic awaits our innocent hunger

Canopies abundant with fruit and life
Grow for you, await the specificity of
Your fingerprints on their fat ripe mangoes skin.
Taking with delight comes at no karmic price,
For your mother wishes to see the slimy pulp
Run down your chin as you squeal with ecstasy.

Can we strip down to our most basic, barest selves?
It is in the light we know we’re winning,
As the breath leaves the body in an existential sigh
Of relief that it had one more moment of this delicious
Experiment in time and space.

Coins thrown into fountains wish for nothing more
In the subtext of their wishes than for the state
Of grace required to live this, feel this fullness
Of heart's beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat
Ba-bum, lub-dub, da dum,
Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you
She sings.

No Regrets

2011-02-26T16:41:00.000-08:00

“There’s a limit to your love/like a water fall in slow motion/Like a map with no ocean/There’s a limit to your love”
-Feist

I’ve always loved these lyrics. But today I witnessed first hand that actually there is in fact NO limit to the love, only a limit to how much one is able to watch the ones they love endure.

Today is my Nan and Granddad’s 57th wedding anniversary. As he is nearly completely bed ridden with all efforts dedicated to fighting the pain from the cancer penetrating his bones after a 5 year fight with prostate cancer, it was not possible for him to get out to the shop to buy a card or flowers for the wife who is serving as his primary care giver. My beautiful aunts who know the deep bond between their parents, organized cards for them to write each other in secret and a bouquet of flowers for my Granddad to give to my Nan.

So after dinner, five of us piled into the crowded bedroom where my Granddad had been sitting all day propped up with pillows and the Saturday edition of the Times paper. A bottle of champagne was popped, a toast was made and these two lovebirds exchanged cards and kisses so sweet and pure. They made me yearn for a marriage as successful, long and loving as theirs. My Nanna fought back the tears, like she must do all day everyday, and was visibly full of so many emotions: love, grief, worry, pride, gratitude, anger, and fear to name but a few.

We should all be so lucky to have this kind of sacred, limitless unconditional love. In the age of urgency and judgment, to see two people who have lived their life and built their family with nothing but the authentic desire to co-create it is disturbing and almost cruel to watch them slowly be pulled apart by this disease. How big must your heart be after 57 years of nights slept side by side? So how much more does it break? Does anything in life ever prepare you to lose your beloved?

I am staying with my Aunt who lost her husband almost exactly one year ago also to cancer. It must be very difficult for her to see this disease unfold yet again and claim another life, another love. My uncle was a pure soul and he loved his wife and family with the full capacity of his abundant heart. His eyes were spotless windows to what a clear human spirit looks like. His final months we devastatingly painful and dragged out; he fought to the very end. It was reflective of the man he was to want to soldier on, but no human being should have to suffer the way he did. I think what pains my Aunt most when she speaks of him is not how much she misses him (which I know is very much and all the time) but of how he suffered for so long and how despite her great care and efforts she could not take his pain away.

Isn’t that all we ever want to do for those we love? Take away their pain?

Today the sink was clogged at my Nan and Granddad’s. Knowing absolutely NOTHING about plumbing (and being generally shit when it comes to anything “handy”) I was over come with a determination to fix it. And two hours later when that stupid little drain made that gross little gurgle-ey burping sound and the water flowed down, my Nanna and I rejoiced! As if somehow this small victory meant for but a moment, we were winning.

And then its back to my Granddad in the bedroom, to the evening pills, the codeine, the morphine patch, the bathroom assistance, the unbearable pain, the confusing daydreams, the fear of what the night will bring.

Death is a part of life; I am understanding and accepting it more and more. But this universal experience that is the only certain thing that we all will share, never ceases to unveil our attachments to those we love. Buddhists believe that life is suffering and that the root of suffering is attachment; therefore, achieving enlightenment means releasing attachment to things, ideas, hopes, cravings, and even people. Spiritual ascension is my favourite hobby… but I promise nothing less than to love with the full ferocity of my being. And if that impedes my progress towards that Bodhi Tree in the sky then I guess I’ll have to release my attachment to THAT dream because as I embark on the journey of marriage and I see my potential future mirrored in the life, love and inevitable loss my grandparents are experiencing I can’t think of any journey more enlightening than the pursuit of this deep state of true and total love.

I celebrate love and I celebrate today especially, the sacred and bittersweet magic of the humanness that wants to entwine us: mind, body and soul. Let us weep and wail for the love we’ve been so privileged to have lived. And let us have respect for the elders before us who have walked the often very difficult path of knowing another human in the context of marriage. Blessings be, to the hooks we have in each other that have grown out of the desire to merge and be united as one.

Happy Anniversary Nan and Granddad, you are my heroes now and forever.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QXJM6F128K0

Mother Nature's Mess

2011-01-22T20:25:00.000-08:00

My great grandmother used to say before cleaning the house: “Lets make the happy home look miserable!” It was her belief that a happy home is a well lived home which means cooking, entertaining, relaxing and other mess making activities. She still had her WWII black-out curtains up in the mid-80’s, it never occurred to her to switch them; they were perfectly good curtains!

My favourite homes are always those that seem to have grown out of the earth, as if Mother Nature herself placed every item on the window ledge. I can always tell within minutes of entering a space whether this place was decorated to match a colour scheme or authentically and gradually filled with belongings holding significance from some chance encounter on a meaningful adventure. And if it sounds like I am making a value judgment here, its probably because I am.

It is a core belief of mine that a person’s home is their sanctuary, not their trophy. When I see perfectly matched picture frames holding stock photos of beach scenes I get worried for the soul of the person living that manicured life. I wonder if one day they are going to come apart at the seams. Those homes represent to me the idea of living life for other people, rather that for the joy of living it. How can you go out one day and buy a life off a show room floor? It strikes me as totally inauthentic. And a lot of people are living in-authentically, not because they are bad people but because they are scared people.

Learning to let oneself unravel enough to hear the call of the soul is a long and painful and all consuming journey. Why step out on your own to find out who you are when you could find a perfectly packaged exterior right here in this handy catalogue?! It’s easier to pick a persona based on what’s popular than to dig deep and trust that what comes up is beautiful and valid in its own right.

The thing is: it always is beautiful and valid. We are changing, wandering, strange magnificent beings and we are almost always trying too hard to be what we already are. The creative types who have to have a heady Russian novel peaking out of their patch covered satchel are playing the same game as the stock broker who leaves his door ajar while on the phone to important clients so everyone can hear how powerful he is. Relax guys; you are far more creative and far more powerful than the two-dimensional façade you are strangling yourselves with.

But along with our creativity, power, magnificence and beauty comes our humanness. And there is no point in truth telling, in soul searching, if you’re not going to bear witness to it all. The perfection is in the jagged edges, and you’re missing the best parts if you skip the fragility and run straight to strength. This is what deters most people from seeking; they are afraid of what they will find. “I’m afraid I won’t like what I see” is what most people say when provoked to look into the mirror into their own eyes. And the painful real and sacred answer is: some of it you probably won’t like.

There is this notion out there that enlightenment means one has transformed into a perfect being. Wouldn’t that be nice?! I bet you a million dollars that when Buddha achieved enlightenment under the bodhi tree he still had to cut his toenails. I bet you Mother Theresa had cellulite. And I bet you that along the way to attaining the state of surrender necessary to sacrifice himself on the cross, Jesus had insecurities about his potential shortcomings as a man and leader. They just don’t tell you those bits.

And all of this only adds to the glory of these incredible human beings. These people felt the fear and did it anyway; they transcended their attachment to an idea of perfection and lived the truth of who they were and what they were called to do. Enlightenment, to me, is complete immersion in the present moment released from either fear or expectation of what it may yield. Self-love is the only lesson worth learning. And the greatest act of self love is to fully immerse oneself in the present moment so much so that one forgets who it is that is experiencing it and is free to explore themselves in a context unbound by past experiences or future projections. To lose oneself is to free oneself. And the only way we can get that deliciously lost is to love what we are, every last weird little cell. There's no room for self-deprecating baggage down the rabbit hole.

A forest doesn’t grow the way it grows to please your eyes when you walk through it. The wind rustles the trees sometimes smacking branches to the ground, birds build nests where they see fit, rivers rise and fall with the seasons and the rains, blossoms respond to temperature and moisture, mushrooms grow in all directions, fallen trees make ideal environments for ferns and other flora, rocks amass over millennia to come to be where they are today and never once does Mother Nature ask what it’ll look like when its done. It will never be done. It is Mother Nature’s mess, and there is a lot we can learn about ourselves in that mess.

Happy Blue Monday Everyone!

2011-01-17T15:59:00.000-08:00

I’ve read a lot on ‘positive thinking’, on ‘choosing the thoughts you think’ and on ‘controlling the extent to which you react emotionally to a given situation’. And although I like to think of myself as somewhat educated and well practiced on these subjects, lets be honest: sometimes we just feel crappy. And we know we are being silly, we know we are the lucky ones: healthy bodies, opportunities, safe environments, but still the pile of mental anguish we need to conquer seems insurmountable.

Maybe I’m getting my period…. Or MAYBE I’m reacting to what the always-fantastical news headlines are calling: Blue Monday, the most statistically depressing day of the year. WHAT!? How do they come up with this shit?! How do you measure something like that? I’d like to know… because I think they might be right! That must be one helluva survey…

I have been on the phone today with more bureaucratic institutions than anyone should ever have to interact with in a lifetime. The line at the post office was 10 people long (I didn’t know 10 people lived in this sleepy little town!). Apparently they don’t sell envelopes in quantities of less than 50 (I’m just trying to send a few letters, not OPEN A POST OFFICE OF MY OWN!). I am in the middle of doing two year’s worth of taxes. I just booked an appointment to get a tetanus shot (my arm hurts just thinking about it). I am currently unemployed and have taken to recycling cans as a source of income (incase you were wondering, it is very smelly and not very lucrative). I am 5,000 kilometers away from the man I love and we are 6-9 months and 5-7 thousands dollars away from legally being allowed to wake up next to each other. Yeah. I’d call that a Blue Monday.

PS. But I swear to god I am really grateful to be alive. No, seriously. I am. Deep down. Deep, deep, deep, deep down under the layers of it's-January-and-I-want-to-puke-on-myself-and-lie-in-it feelings.

PPS. Too much?

You and Me

2010-12-21T20:32:00.000-08:00

I am to be wed.

Say whaaaaaat?!

Yes.

The man I love proposed to me last night under an eclipsing full moon on the night of the winter solstice. This is a combination of cosmic circumstances that only come together once every 450 years. HOW COULD I SAY NO?!

So I said yes. Yes, yes and a thousand times yes. But it just so happened that in the moments before he popped the question, I was staring at the sky contemplating my fears surrounding marriage: worries of eventually disappointing the person who in this moment loves you so much, or of falling asleep in life so that you forget what tingled your spine in the first place, the monkey mind that always wants to find a problem not letting you live being happy in love, or that he/she won’t get you or worse of all that he/she (this is my greatest fear) will judge you silently for your humanness and slowly build up a brick wall of repulsion. It is not enough for me to survive this journey… I must forge ahead and expand the limitations of what is possible between two people in the realms of understanding and LOVE. But from a young age we are told that we have to “be sure”, “think things through”, as if through a careful series of questionnaires and time spent buzzing about in our already maniacal minds we will come to some quantifiable conclusion. Where is freedom to rip open your heart and let its contents scream to the heavens “OH MY GOD HELP I REALLY WANT THIS TO BE BEAUTIFUL PLEASE GUIDE ME!" This is such a magnificently tender and frighteningly exciting time and I want to be fully open, free of self judgment enough to see the gift in front of me. And I can’t think this through, I can only feel my way through it… and it feels so delicious.

Always an advocate for self-honesty and the dissolution of expectation based paradigms, I am embracing the fears I have of all the many challenges that lie ahead. I’m not going to pretend that I am fearless in the face of this immense change in my life. I am a human woman who is evolving at the rate of as-fast-as-she-can, praying for the state of grace required to take another human being into the deepest folds of my heart and release my fears at a sustainable rate so that more moments can be lived more fully, until one day when I am very very old and wise and a grandmother a dozen times over, I will know what living truly is. But until that day my vow is to compassionately monitor my human mind (and sometimes sulky heart) and let myself walk forward over the fire of good intentions and promise that I will use my human hands to build a home for our ethereal hearts to find solace every night when we need to lay down our too full heads. Let us feel the fullness of this experience. Block nothing, allow everything: fear flow freely, you are my many mountains upon mountains and ignoring your existence only means I’ll miss the views at the top of your infinite peaks.

Ask me your questions. Whisper to me your fears in the dark. My story will become your story and yours will become mine. And I will always be me. And you will always be you. There is space enough for all our love and for all of our crazy. And forever more it’s going to be you and me.

The Earth Will Turn Again

2010-12-09T00:37:00.000-08:00

Climbing atop skyscrapers
my eyes seek a sunrise
mid day-
beginning, peeling back,
somewhere on the horizon
around the curvature of all there is,
The earth turns
but we call it sun rise

Maybe if I undulate to the rhythm
of the earth beating against the metal
thrown upon it
Maybe then I will strain my eyes
to see
A new sky
That in it
Always has Suns rising
Moons fat, full, slivered up
and Stars falling, crashing
into the artful splash

Say I needed something
would that be all that bad?
You who are untainted by need-
Teach me not to need a sun rise…
To accept darkness when it comes
and judge not the sticky web
of night fall
- and all she brings to minds too
fast for hearts to know much at all

Back on the ground
(Beneath the silver masses of impermanence
atop the playground of the life cycle
of all the creatures that we are)
A cat calls to the dust pan alley
She’s hungry for the wildebeest
she used to be
I’m ferocious, she’ll tell you
Don’t you dare leave me no milk

Catatonic, lost, dreaming of these fearless times
We tread too lightly and for what?
I’m a sodden lampshade hung from a gnarly branch
Outside a haunted house
You just see your own eyes
And deep within the rings of years there’s a better story
I see you
And I know of this lampshade
Of your raggedness
Tender, pulsing, too hot, laughed at, sacred sorest spots
All is well
The earth will turn again

Each Time I See the Light

2010-11-29T23:27:00.000-08:00

Things can be so clear sometimes: intentions, life changes, awakenings, personal reformations, compassionate understanding for “other”... then a moment comes and passes silently and it is only later that we realise this could have been the place, the time, or the person with which to practice this new found hopefulness for life.

All too often we block ourselves, we hurt ourselves, we perpetuate patterns of pain that keep us trapped in the cycles of suffering we are for some reason terrified to leap beyond. With the power of a reflexive mind this is often all too clear... as we move far beyond having to provide for basic survival needs into the frontier of creating our own unique realities based on the principles of freedom and individuality, we are at every turn confronted with the shackles that keep us tied to the notion of struggle. For some reason we are addicted to the drama of self sabotage. And the tenderness that comes with the willingness to transform is often so acute that we shudder and turn our backs on progress when the metamorphosis begins. How will we relate to a new kind of identity, one that goes beyond form and categorization? Can we let go of the attachment to the idea of who we think we are and what hardships have molded this tiny speck of humanness? Could we accept a life that is joyful? A life beyond struggle, inner or outer?

We continue to create... what will we do with this immense power?

Invisibility Cloak

2010-10-18T11:55:00.000-07:00

Today is one of those days that I don’t want to leave the house. Today is one of those days where I feel too tender to be looked at by strangers. My heart is an obvious malady sticking out of my chest ready to be gawked at. On these days I want to live this intense sensitivity, honour it, and invisibly slide across the sidewalk to my desired destination completely unnoticed.

These, I believe, are important times. They are acutely pointing toward a truth nearly ready to emerge. They are footholds up, up and away. They are vortexes, opportunities to receive by their intense forcing open. These are times to listen, to be alone, to feel everything and allow it to penetrate and affect my being. These are times in which I want to distil myself into a piece of fabric, or a drop of a flower essence, or three bars of music and then feel, taste or hear the truth of what I am.

Life does not allow for these times to flourish. Things are fast and all at once; there is little room to unravel. That’s why our heads are down on certain days. You don’t want to look at anyone on the subway? Okay, you can be invisible for a day.

Today I honour the propensity of those in the metropolitan marketplace to withdraw, retreat and be alone even though surrounded by millions. I get it.

Patience is a Simmering Soup That Knows its Going to be Frozen for Months but Flavours Itself Up Anyway

2010-10-13T13:12:00.000-07:00

Patience is your annoying little brother being right

Patience is your rib cage pried open by field mice

Patience is the only hope for sanity

Patience is everything everywhere that was ever once something else

Patience is the only thing more beautiful than an old dainty woman in a fancy hat

Patience is mostly stumbled upon for pockets of non-time

Patience is usually denounced in favour of turmoil

Patience is a fat birthmark in the shape of the essence of creation

Patience is no body’s business but mine for me when I want to feel it

Patience is no coconuts falling but the taste of sweet milk filling your mouth as you stand below shaking the tree

Patience is the only way out of the fear trap

Patience is an orgasm on the cusp of enlightenment

Patience is a naked tree in January

Patience is the smell of a half inked tattoo bleeding with the promise to be something beautiful and forever

Patience is a halo

Patience is the power to live through it all, especially love

Patience is my black coffee not waiting for my sugary spoon

Patience is the baggage handler with no passport

Patience is my father

Patience is unconditional love flavoured ice cream on a hot night of the soul

Patience is the letters we used to write on paper that came from trees we used to cut by hand

Patience is Shakespeare waiting this long for Sir Ian McKellen to be born and grow old enough to play King Lear

Patience is my intestines who never get any thanks

Patience is a whole nights sleep with no peeking at what is coming next

Patience is kneeling at the foot of desire

Patience is walking only on the cracks with reverence for how they formed

Patience is not advised for the weak of will, it will only lead to the throwing of plates

Patience is the mouth on my face and the mouth in my mind shutting for long enough to feel the mouth of my heart open and
get her turn

Patience is the reward for its own effort

Patience is so boring sometimes

Patience is the journey of every single rock on earth breaking free from some giant slab and becoming itself

Patience is God’s funniest one liner

Patience is the most aerobic activity out there

Patience is something I one day hope to feel as easily as I do feverish desire or reaching outwards

Patience is the sandiest bathing suit of all time

Patience is the impeccably shiny brogues on a gentleman standing at the arrivals gate

Patience is a necklace made of broken hearts worn only on special occasions

Patience is no game or trickery or cunning slight of hand

Patience is the earth’s response to the incessant stream of dirty footprints on her living room floor

Patience is no place for a stranger in search of revenge

Patience is my obsession

Patience is the sound the sky makes as every colour on its canvas turns carefully towards sun-setting brilliance

Patience is the stick you dropped from the bridge into the stream and watched disappear into the reeds

Patience is the renunciation of the need for a spiritual teacher that lives outside my own heart

Patience is the name of the Cobbler who I want to make my walking shoes

Patience is a yellow brick road toward the real Oz

Patience is the threshold of pain exceeded in childbirth

Patience is the visionary who sees the beautiful future unfolding but knows not to break the snow globe in an attempt to climb inside it

Patience is the word before the thought knowing its worth something

Patience is the anti-feeling in the belly of the glassy eyed teenager who just lost his virginity

Patience is the cut off crusts of the lunchtime sandwich

Patience is the catapult we must climb into in order to reach the castle beyond the battlefield

Why I Love New York City Part 1

2010-10-07T16:19:00.000-07:00

On my way home from the grocery store ,with my purse full of ingredients for a delicious veggie chili (I paid for them… was just saving a plastic bag, not shoplifting shoving things into my purse I swear!), I saw a woman on the corner of E 4^th St and Avenue A with a giant tropical bird on her shoulder. Un-accustomed to such sights but wanting to look cool like "Yeah, of course. In Canada people chill on their cell phones with exotic winged creatures perched pirate-like on their shoulders all the time”, I waited until a local family stopped to gawk for my cue to join in and stare in wonderment.

“Look!” exclaimed the father to the son. “Wow, a parrot!” the five year old replied. “Mom, look a parrot!” he yelled to his mom who at this point had already crossed the street and was about to enter the same grocery store I had just exited. “Cool!” She yelled back “Stay with your Dad, I’ll be there in a minute”. They just yelled back and forth at each other while the rest of the after school crowd rushed around them, and then father and son proceeded to observe the bird, taking no notice of the woman it was attached to and not for a second questing her or her reasons for having a bird of this size and origin. All the while she continued her conversation like everything was totally normal (you got the impression that this was her version of totally normal), with the knowledge that we were fixated but with little regard for our general existence, or the bird’s for that matter. And let me say, this is the heart of my point: there was no nastiness or irritation or even ignoring of us… everyone was aware of everyone else in this… but come as you are and do as you please: have a crazy parrot, stare at people with crazy parrots, talk on your cell phone, yell across the street….

There are over 8 million people in this city, so do whatever you want because even if someone DOES notice, they either will have seen it before, or find it mildly amusing before moving on to the next sensational sight or heading home to make veggie chili.

Good Morning Star Shine

2010-10-05T04:38:00.000-07:00

I am a British Canadian which means that I am usually either repressing some deeply rooted emotion or apologizing for it. The thing is, I am actually a highly sensitive, overly expressive human. This combination of nature, nurture and my truth as an individual soul apart from where I come from and what I’ve been taught, has led to some pretty confusing times. Add into the mix that I can be extremely intellectual and analytical, wanting to understand everything that is happening all at once in real time, and you have for some very interesting dark nights of the soul!

How on earth do you find your truth? It is a line of universal wisdom “Find your truth, find your truth, find your truth”, a mantra that resonates deep inside but cannot be comprehended or explained. Seekers, if determined enough, will embrace the inward journey and maybe, if this lifetime is meant for it, find some sense of it all eventually on the other side of infinite personal mountains and canyons. Most people will pretend they never heard the words at all, feeling a kind of dread at the thought of unravelling all their personal demons and being laid bare at the sight of their own imperfection. Because we all intuitively know that the process of finding one’s truth is a rocky, scary, lonely, weird one and if fully committed to WILL lead to some very revealing, vulnerable moments and probably some uncomfortable changes both at the core and periphery of one’s worldly life.

Well, that sounds hard.

It is. It sucks a lot of the time, especially at the beginning. I know this because for some glorious and extremely annoying reason, I apparently have no choice in the matter; my entire life, I am learning, is and always has been propelled by this unravelling, this innate need to understand through a process of exploration. Every major choice I have made in my adult life has been driven by this burning desire to expand. I need it to keep on living. It’s completely exhausting.

It has also led me to some pretty incredible places, people, and experiences. I have stood on literal mountain tops and smiled at the cloudy face of God, boarded many a plane with a heavy heart or smiling heart or nervous heart, I have had many a homecoming hang out with friends feeling safe and cradled after a particularly ragged soul stretching city stint, I have lived in the bottom less pit of depression and then found the light, felt my molecules shift in the slow stretch of my favourite yoga class, I have spontaneously sung reggae on the London Underground with an illegally busking Rastaman amassing a crowd of commuters willingly missing trains to stay and hear our version of “Natural Mystic”, been ignited in a fury of creative fervor and written a song in a matter of minutes, then burned my brain trying to remember it months later! I have done all these things and much much more; the things I have experienced as a result of my willingness to journey past artifice and really put my guts into it are my greatest accomplishments.

Something came to me last night as I lay in floods of joyful tears and raw feeling... even though I know that this kind of behavior is usually reserved for the insane, it is in these moments of expressive emotional ecstasy, when I am feeling to the fullest reaches of my capacity to unite my spirit and humanness in an epic unravelling, that I feel the most true. I have tried for a lot of my life to keep my bubbling emotions in check with the pointy stick of a sharp mind. But, in those moments of unrestrained in the moment experience, I can't understand how I can ever move through a day or minute WITHOUT constantly choking on huge emotions in response to my very existence! The majesty of it all, the sheer dumb luck that I am even here in the first place... my life is magnificent in every small and luminous way. Some mornings I shake and groan in response to my first delicious sip of tea, or before that even - languor in bed for an indulgent moment (or 60) because my face and the pillow are making some sweet sweet comfort love, or when I am relaxed enough to actually hear the music I am listening to and cannot do anything else but exclaim or gyrate wildly in response, this is when I know that I am LIVING, that I have cleared out enough mental and emotional cobwebs to actually get to FEEL. But, these magical moments are most usually experienced alone... especially that last one...

I cannot reserve them for only my private moments any longer. It is simply not possible. It is busting, bursting out of me and I can’t care what anyone thinks. The sensorial expression of experience makes people uncomfortable... especially the British! I love my family more than anything, but they all think I’m completely nuts. They love it, and embrace my crazy, they actually love it the most when I am so beyond overboard: putting on a show either on stage or in the kitchen being overly dramatic or silly or singing Frank Sinatra into a ladle. But folks, it ain’t just pretend. The life we are actually living is always infinitely more amazing... because... it is REALLY happening! Dress-up and Story time, elaborate Opera’s, massive graffiti tags, free-jazz, fantasy, Monet’s enormous three paneled “Water Lilies” (went to the Museum of Modern Art in NYC last week... had NO IDEA it was that big!!!!!), it is all this... the need to expand. And we LOVE it! But we just don’t all want to do it all the time. Which is totally fair, I get it. If I had any choice in the matter I might not do it all the time either.

We now have arrived at the definition of what it means to be a star-shine. Everyone HAS star-shine, it is our birth right... but having star-shine and BEING a star-shine are two very different things. Being a star-shine is the willingness to try and live your star-shine. The truth. For you. Whatever that is. Star-shine, it is something ineffable, something magical at the heart of creation. You could call it many things, but I guess for these purposes we can call it truth, there is nothing more magical than truth.

I am a star-shine. There. I said it. And the people I am aligned with are almost all star-shines. They either, like me, have no choice in the matters of unravelling and discovery or have uncovered this option to live out their wildest dreams, going to great lengths (sometimes purely within themselves, clearing out old pattens and beliefs that are blocking them) in order to experience their life fully. Then there are those who resonate deeply with the meaning of star-shine, who have been given a shit-load of it (pardon me) but are afraid to love themselves enough to use it. There are a lot of these people in my life too and I try and keep my big mouth shut about it because I know how freaking hard it is... but you know who you are!

Life is crazy and beautiful. But for the star-shine its double time (that should totally be a bumper sticker and if you’re a star-shine you’ll get the joke). I pray for the support of the star-shine. Not just the artist. But those who are willing to go on this journey and make the world better one heart and mind at at time. We are at some points suffering from the weariness of the journey and at others want to open ourselves and rejoice. Let us support those who are willing to feel everything, who are working to make the insides match the outsides and be a clear and experiential contribution to the network of energy we are all connected to.

That saying: “Do something today that scares you”, is not wisdom because its healthy to give yourself heart palpitations everyday, it is true because we are afraid to expand but breaking through that barrier of fear feels FUCKING AWESOME.

Again, the Canadian in me apologizes.

Meditation on Understanding

2010-09-30T14:54:00.000-07:00

We never thought we’d have one of those fights. You know the ones I mean... the fights that neither party will ever under any circumstances admit was a fight. The ones that are largely silent and filled only with the echoey voids of communication breakdown. In the middle of it you know you’ve both lost, lost the race to being perfect together if even if totally imperfect alone. Because until then he’d mostly filled your silences or you’d let your need to be understood fly free with faith that somewhere somehow you are being understood in the bizarre and beautiful parallel universe where everything is perfect.

Understanding. Is it real? Yes, but it is not some eternal state. Once you’ve found it, there is no telling how long it will stick around. Like everything else, understanding is impermanent and requires great and tender focus, openness, egoless-ness, and presentness (the ingredients required to slip into a state of grace) before she’ll take you in her arms. When the balance is upset great holes appear... Or is it more like a game of snakes and ladders? The snakes are often the demons in our own minds bringing us right back down again. And the ladders? What are they? Nuggets of wisdom? The strength to rise? To accept the ascent as readily as the descent? Its all a bit too much sometimes... this world, these tasks and thoughts all at once. What will we do with our playing space?

It is my belief that expansion is the meaning of life. There are infinite universes within everyone of us and it is their slapping together that creates an incessant stream of big bangs, opening every moment to the creative potential. Ultimate understanding includes the understanding that this is a very difficult thing to live with. It is happening within every organism and inanimate object all the time. But as human beings with reflexive minds we are (depending on our desire to seek) living with some level of awareness of this fact. It is painful, it is scary, it imbues us with a sense of responsibility for the quality with which we receive and process this knowledge. Add into the mix my universes crashing against yours, trillions of particles displaced with every embrace...

Can physics explain why marriage is hard? Will we one day be able to map out our irritations and sore spots like constellations? Will super microscopes take the place of eye glasses and will we then be able to see the arrangements of quarks in our beloved and know... Uh oh... Will we one day have therapy sessions and dialogues that start off with “Honey, when you leave the toilet seat up it really creates a black hole in my 856th universe”, or “Babe, my 8th dimension is going crazy right now, please just pick an outfit”. Seriously though... as science reaches toward filling in the gaps in our understanding of the stratosphere and beyond, how does this knowledge relate to the life inside? The intuitive arts have always discussed energy fields and the results of vastly different intentions and desires interacting in close proximity. We all feel this phenomenon... it is such a part of daily life that it almost shouldn’t be called a phenomenon. Walk into a room where two people have just had an argument... you bet you’ll feel the flakes of that fight hanging. The grumpy guy in the cubicle beside you finally got laid... You don’t need to see the pervy photo’s on his phone to know something is definitely different. Some of us are better at immediately recognizing these energetic discrepancies than others, but we are all hard wired to receive information about our environment and fellow tribespeople within it. When we are up close with a particular person for an extended period of time we start to get acquainted with the seeming constants and variables in his or her personal equations. The intuition then starts to fine-tune to this frequency... but it doesn’t always find resolution or reconciliation when it shifts. And sometimes it is the fact that we think we know where the frequency should be that makes us especially irked or thrown off when its not where we expected it to be.

It is my feeling that the goal of enlightenment is motivated by the desire for ultimate understanding- communion with the ever expanding, the birth and continuation of all things. In order to do this, a lot of fear has to dissipate as does much need for glorification. I am also starting to think that enlightenment and understanding are the clasped hands of two cosmic lovers. Enlightenment requires a certain craftsmanship of thought, and can be encouraged along by a teacher under which one can apprentice. Understanding is the unfolding of the metaphysical heart, and is the most private of journeys. It is simply and not so simply the willingness to feel exposed and tender and turn off that pointed discerning mind that so eagerly wants to practice what it has been learning. Understanding is achieved when there is inner freedom enough to just love and be loved.

So what? What about the void? Avoiding the void... I hate the echoey void. It is in the echoey void that I become my alien and cannot be reached as there is not reception on my home planet. It is in these times I want to cut out my own tongue just to give myself an excuse for not having the right words. It is here that I want to make random apish sounds and articulate myself in some loud, raw, primal way. In these times all I want to do want to sing a soccer chant and hold up a giant foam finger that reads “Understanding is #1!” But maybe thats because these are times not for words, not for cognitive comprehension. These caverns and canyons between the particles in my heart and those in yours don’t actually exist in this model of expansion and constant crashing together. That feeling of painful passing in the night is not real. For any of us at any time. Everything is connected. Including my sulking and your confusion. We can always reach each other if we are willing to sometimes not know how. The gut feeling to get quiet, to not talk it out is right sometimes. Understanding can at times be reached through words but other times through food, sleep, staring at the sky, working silently on something, mediating on the unraveling of the heart, a kiss on the forehead or quite simply the clasping of hands.

I pray everyday for understanding, in love, in life, in work, in my art, and all the time with all the tender fractious hurting humanness of wanting to feel the ever present but often so hard to tap into truth that everything is happening all at once and is connected to everything else that is also happening... and that means me too! We are all on the inside. We are all in the know. I pray for the dissolution of whatever it is that impairs my ability to resonate, to feel the harmonies rising up to meet in the space between. Heaven for me is understanding, and understanding for me is hearing the symphony and moving motivated by its lilts and tempo changes, all the while recognizing that my involvement will in turn contribute to where the next movement resolves itself and again finds form.

Right on Schedule...

2010-09-26T13:23:00.000-07:00

I am about to reveal the writer’s deepest non-secret, their most obvious, over developed and ugliest talent: procrastination. Sometimes its the idea of the hard road ahead, the sweat and tears WORK of it all that gets me off the page or screen and onto the couch or yoga mat or street or phone or internet. Sometimes its the tenderness, the fear of failing, of writing something “bad” or revealing too much or having an idea so ready to bloom but without the skills yet to articulate it that pushes me to do anything but hit the keys. Today I have a very specific task ahead of me, and very localized angst and fear and discomfort at the sheer thought of facing up to it.

I used to worry that I didn’t have the self motivation or “get up and go” to be an artist at the helm of their own creative endeavours. But time and again I have watched myself, marveled at myself and the energy that rises up from a seemingly infinite source and propels me up out of bed at the crack of dawn to be on a set or run around the city hitting auditions with three outfits in my purse only to get back at work by 5 to put in enough hours to pay the rent or even staying up until 3 in the morning after a double show day writing just to feel and see and explore. I know I have everything I need... and also a bunch of stuff I do NOT need... to stumble ever further down the rabbit hole of this journey towards that holy land of manifestation. So I try not to judge the tired, the weary, the frightened, the feelings of being monumentally UN-special, and chalk it all up to humanness with trust that it will come out when it wants to and like all the times before when I’ve really actually wanted something I will find the guts and the hot sticky desire to make it happen.

But... I don’t just want to write for self-exploration and catharsis. Here’s another secret: I want to be a writer. For an audience. I want to conquer these blocks and aversions to just DOING IT so that I can write articles and books and plays and poems and make it part of my WORK. And when you are, when I am, writing for work, for something outside ones self... it has to be a labour of love and devotion and stubborn bull headed often awkward forcing out. Sometimes it will flow making sense of itself as it reveals what it means to word after word. And sometimes it will eeek out like nails on the chalkboard of your mind. Oh god. I want to throw up.

I have to read the first draft of my first play today. I don’t want to. I want to pretend I never wrote it. But I know in my heart that not only can I absolutely not abandon this little creature... I have to learn to love the warts and folds of fat and finally accept that I gave birth to this totally imperfect being. And then after cradling it in my arms and feeding it from my own body I will trim its gnarly mane (that it most certainly inherited from its mother), take it out of its potato sack dress, pick out some party shoes and maybe frilly socks (too much?) and then set it free to roam the creative kingdom and fend for itself warts and all.

I want my work to be accessible, inclusive. I most certainly write from myself, a personalised voice that I will never apologize for or try to change, but at present my play is a philosophical play about philosophical things. And that’s all well and good and will remain the case even after the 4th draft, but I want it to stimulate and entertain and not just be a selfish vomiting of my existential escapades. It is so hard to make that switch, to stay rooted in truth and authenticity but be writing for the market place, writing something with the intention that it will someday be shared, interpreted and (ouch!) probably judged. This blog has been my bridge to the outside world. I have been writing faithfully for the last six-seven years: poetry, ideas, journal entries, stream of conscious gibberish, mini articles, scrapings of dialogue, but it was always for ME... And here I write knowing I will most likely post this and even when it gets super intellectually wanky or all about my personal feelings I can justify it by saying: I never ask anyone to read it. I don’t publicize this blog or tell people its “good”, if you find it by accident and choose to read on: cool. If you are one of the handful of friends or family I have invited to check it out then, well, you know me and I’m willing to bet that none of these often nonsensical ponderings really come as any surprise. If you’ve read this far and you hate it... well that’s your own fault!

But my play... and all the other plays that are starting to stir in my belly... I want to be proud of them, I want to hand out flyers on the street, I want to advertise them and ask people to act in them, I want to ask people for money at the door and re-coup my costs. So... it needs to be worth someone’s time. And oh god... what if its sooooo not!? I still won’t let my parents see some of the film projects I’ve been in because I’m afraid they’ll ask me for that 5, 10, or 80 minutes of their life back. But bad movies, bad plays, bad business ventures get made, get supported, get invested in all the time (please immediately click on these links: Hawaii Chair and then Patton Oswald “Death Bed”... TOTALLY worth 5 mins of your life and illustrates this point with much more hilarity than I can). So why not this? Why not MY idea?

The answer: Well Laura... because it isn’t done yet. Its in first draft form, it is a fetus. It is totally unready to be bought, sold, have the hands of strangers upon it. And if you don’t love it enough to stare it in the face and love it and accept it and put YOUR time into it well then why should anyone else? Oh god... wisdom... you are so annoying sometimes... I was just here writing about the fear of writing... procrastinating to the HIGHEST degree (the fact that I have now written over 1,000 words about why I’m afraid to start this, to start to finish this... well that kids, is the definition of creative procrastination.

So here I go... I am diving in... any minute now... but wait, first I have to read over THIS... and then edit a few things... then pull up my blog website... transfer it in... post it... re-read it on line... do one more edit... check my email... send my dad a happy birthday message... order another cup of tea... oh SHIT! Then it will be time to go to that movie. Darn

(My monkey mind... with the voice of an evil professor):

Ha progress! I’ve escaped your clutches for one more day!

PS. Just for the record... I'm not going to that movie. I'm going to get to work. Self honest awareness can be a real bitch sometimes.

Playground Scientist

2010-09-24T19:08:00.000-07:00

You know what’s hard?

Exercising conscious mental will, choosing thoughts that are beautiful and understanding with love the tendency to create problems that will feed the analytical mind.

It is not enough to be happy, to be bliss, to be one... not for the wiring, the way we’ve come to understand the world. To let go and let everything connect in a jumble of things is a frightening endeavor. The inability to live without the cerebral capabilities of categorizing and labeling is the source of much mental illness. But the mind has evolved to include a reflexive quality and in that reflection it is clear that perceived understanding through the ordering of things is no real peace at all. The self imposed superstructure is both a crutch and a false lead in terms of where we come from, where we’re at, and where we hope to go. These lily pad leaps of mind move towards nothing more than hypothesis. The giant experiment that is one’s life will inevitably yield data that both supports and contradicts this teeter-totter thesis. From these supposed smatterings of findings we then go about our days working from the belief that what we’ve gathered in our play pen laboratory is truth. We are bad scientists. We are not scientists at all. Just because we have silently and collectively agreed on the parameters of this test piece doesn’t mean everything isn’t still a variable. The attachment to this idea of life, the dependence on it and our relationship to it and the expectation that things will always be in alignment with how you see them is what leads to mind crushing pain and disappointment and the need to hold on and go to sleep.

This is one reason why things are not as they seem. This is one reason why gut reactions always reveal more of the truth then long drawn out pro/con paradigm based decision making.

Nothing is real. Nothing is right.

And this is not a sad thing.

Oh! My Mama

2010-09-10T22:41:00.000-07:00

My mum has always gotten the brunt of it. I have been my whole life blossoming and growing and shining and rising and with every layer I peel back, with each level of wisdom unearthed I time after time hand her the skin I’ve out grown and then run off to play with my friends.

Most know me now as an aspiring actress and singer unafraid to fill a room with voice, with energy, with light. But there was a time when I was sick with nerves, when my voice shook from the first note to the last and when I would cry until my heart was a stone after every exam, recital, competition. And guess who drove me to all of these? Guess who I snapped at the whole way there? And guess in whose arms I balled afterwards?

I left Vancouver Island this past Wednesday afternoon. It was a beautiful day and I was in every sense setting out on a new set of adventures pure in the knowledge that I would be returning soon. But still I was a mess. I was miserable. I was terrified. It is safe there, it is healthy, my parents love me, I can be an earth child, I can wear no make up, I can do yoga on the beach, swim naked in the ocean, I can be quiet, not have to prove anything to anyone and be still, let the moment be enough. And as I stared down the barrel of my own crazy aspirations, my insides tangled up and I forgot once again where I truly sought comfort (and who had all along facilitated this epic journey in every sense). Mama.

Mothers and daughters. Why is it so weird? Are we mirrors too close to ever see anything clearly? Or are we so clear to one another that it reveals too much all at once? Expectations? Sure. Lots of them, on both sides. But the love. Oh, the love. How many of us really know how to be loved? I think if I could really let all the love I have in my life fill me I would spontaneously combust. And I think mothers have a hard time feeling loved. I think they must forget how to feel it because they are so busy pumping love OUT. And eventually if they really do forget how to feel it in return, and/or how to fill themselves up again then they start to take pieces of themselves, break them down and convert them into love. A good friend told me that her mother said to her the other day, “Oh you and your universe!”. How weird it must be to create this human and then watch it wander off into the sunset of its own experience. And how horrible when they won’t let you be part of it. 1997-2007 must have been pretty rough for that hey Mum? Sorry.

So this is my formal invitation, to my own mother to invite her to be a part of my universe, and to anyone who wishes to share their tender fragmented human spirit with the one that gave them breath. Welcome to my universe Mama, I made you a key... come and go as you please. And if you ever feel like doing some dishes or my laundry on one of your visits, I’m totally cool with that, it would NOT be considered robbing me of my independence.

Kidding!

Sort of.

Post Script:

For a more sensorial salute to mothers check out one of the most beautiful modern folk songs: Alela Diane "Oh! My Mama"

The Art of Receiving

2010-08-19T09:19:00.000-07:00

Palms open

Sky bound,

Fingers unclasped

Free to release,

to receive

Trickling between them

there can be no choice

Of what flows out

or in

Fearlessness, in the face

of the blue storm

Hiding nowhere

facing everything, smiling

at the whipping wind

Arms stretched, aching

in their reaching

in their welcoming

Trying to free the heart

from its cage between them

Back to the ocean

which is everything

that resonates

With freedom

Expectations are binding

God only knows what will stick

If anything

So until the heavens

Call my name

All I can call is my

prayer,

heart’s song,

delicious desires,

nonsensical dreams,

painful tender hope

And you,

and me,

and you and me

we are connected by the space

There is no form without space

No love without loneliness,

And no receiving without letting go.

When Things Fall Apart

2010-08-16T12:46:00.000-07:00

Often times we try and impose a structure to a day, a set of chores, or even the development of art. Until recently these self imposed boundaries have terrified me. I have feared that in the attempt to shape things in a particular way I would rob that exploration of the openness to receive spontaneous visits from creative angels. When I give my writing, music or acting infinite room, no pre-conceived notions, beautiful things happen. But there comes a point in every artists life where you have to get over yourself and your own superstitions and rise to meet the art rather than demanding it come down from heaven to fill you each and every time.

I believe in technique, and I desire a life of craftsmanship. I want to be able to do a 6 month run of a show and not have to rely solely on the spiritual transformation of my own soul every night. But even amidst this wish for a creative career that is a viable and consciously conceived entity, I know I’ll still love it every time whatever I thought I was building falls apart and the raw moment reveals itself. I take these workshops and I read these books and I immerse myself in these rehearsal processes and what I feel like I’m being taught is: be present, whatever is there is what should be there, the space between is the tender part, listen to it, and stop trying to do something that someone will think was smart, be willing to let the music play you, prepare for its arrival with respect and hard work, and don’t ask for that hard work to be rewarded, hard work is the currency with which we pay for divine intervention, and do we ask for a round of applause when we pay for a banana?

But there are hundreds of schools of thought and it can be daunting to sift through it all for what it is we’re looking for. And isn’t what we’re looking for just a way in? Or a way out? I said a while ago that the only thing I new to be true was: start now, do everything and experience it fully. This is how I approach learning, creating and expressing myself. And I am learning the value in preparation, in structure, in form and in the conscious choosing of a process. The balance I seek allows for the angels, invites them even, but does not take it personally if they don’t appear. My cognitive and imaginative development and artistic manifestations of this journey are both totally up to me and not up to me. I promise to show up, and I endeavor to offer something true, and craft it in such a way that it is worth someone’s time; but whether it rings for days in the deepest meatiest folds of your heart or butterflies fill the air and block your ability to see the words or the stage in a fantastic dance of revelation... well that part’s not up to me. So I’ll try to continue to be here, in the place between passion and least resistance, and work to make this space comfortable, welcoming, safe and hospitable so that when the winged messengers come calling they might stick around for a day or two enjoy their stay and then decide to move here.

That’d be nice.

when the melancholy fit shall fall - J. Keats

2010-08-07T21:22:00.000-07:00

Somedays feelings come rolling in over the hills of the heart and instead of breezing through, they hang in the valley and loom large threatening rain but never fully letting loose. These days are both ripe and muted. And sometimes muted wins the meta-physical tug of war and settles down damp and camps out, blanketing everything with a beige mist. Melancholy is a paralysing non emotion. This indifference towards all things is a void completely out of the moment and answers to no one. It is a bully, and when it smells vulnerability it pounces and slowly sucks the life blood from its prey.

What is melancholy apart from playground anti-hero? A sort of psychic vampire? This abominable grey-ness seems to go after the light, or at least snuff it out when no one’s looking. Some times he comes in the night when eyes are closed and hearts are open looking for easy targets. Once in, he can stick around for a desperate moment or an entire numbed lifetime. He is one of the strangest and slipperiest tricksters in the crime files of the human experience.

Poets throughout the ages have written of and continue to be stalked by this cloaked monster. Sensitive beings are the first to be attacked during melancholy’s massacres. They are often on the cusp of the exact things he is drawn to: hope, desire, love, tactile emotion, yearning, inquiry, excitement. These are delicious nectars from which to suck. And turned in on themselves they are hilarious puzzle pieces for our villain to try and jam together again. It is as if an entity possesses us when melancholy takes hold. Our spirit calls for us from a richer mental landscape, but there are bars on the windows and we are lying on the floor barely conscious enough to hear her reaching out.

How do we get up again? How do we rally ourselves and make a break for it when our arms and legs have pins and needles? The first thing, is to relax rather than resist. Resistance pleases melancholy, it reinforces his sense of strength. That's how bullies work: the more scared you are the less work they have to do. Then, once the walls start falling down you can allow for the spiritual membrane to be permeated by whatever is in that moment. Melancholy wants you to cave in. But a willingness to non judgmentally observe one’s surroundings is this brand of self obsession’s greatest tonic.

There is wisdom in fully experiencing each moment, no matter how uncomfortable or awkward feeling; I have learned through trial and error that repression and denial lead to no paradise. But indulgence is as futile as resistance. So, I let the waves wash over me. Sometimes I have to work my way back to the surface for breath, but I play in them even as I get smashed and tossed around. I honour the fact that the ocean of life is far more powerful than I. So, when I feel too tired for either fight or play, I simply sit on the sands and observe with reverence that from which I came.

Live Life Love Life

2010-08-03T21:25:00.000-07:00

In the face of change, do we run or do we thrive? For all of my adult life I have changed either geographic location, job, school, my romantic relationship or entire perspective on life (or some combination of any/all of these) approximately every eight months. One would think then that I thrive on change, that stimulus and the shifting sands of uncertainty are great friends of mine. But with every new lily pad leap there is a new layer of fear to release and I am coming to understand that my relationship with change has been somewhat of a dependent one.

It is natural to fear change and to be sick to the stomach when uncertainty comes a calling. This is indeed my first response. But my second one ushers in a giddy knowing: all of life is uncertain and we hang in the balance at all times. Once amicable with this truth, the larger more obvious times of jumping down the rabbit hole are accompanied by an openness and a trust that lets the good times roll. “Dislocation puts all your observation skills at their best”, a writer responded when asked why she prefers to write away from home (sometimes in a motel only ten miles from her house). Our instinct is to survive, and when we change village, tribe, or role, our ears prick up and our eyes grow wide in search of food, water, and an understanding of our surroundings. In short, newness awakens the senses.

But why can’t we be this fresh to the moment all the time? Why do we nap our way through the day? Is it possible on an ordinary Tuesday to be open to observing with a sense of wonderment the markings on the tiles in our own kitchens, the sounds of the neighbours children playing, or our partner picking out the shirt they’ll wear that day? I love travel, the world, new experiences... I have been living with awareness and expanding rapidly largely due to the stamps in my passport and the random jobs I’ve piled on my resume. But I don’t want to rely on flipping my life inside out just so I can feel alive. One of my greatest fascinations with the human experience is how to live with this ripe mindset though the trials, tribulations, and seeming banalities of life. Staying conscious throughout 5, 10, 15 years in the same job or house or marriage... Falling asleep is not an option for me. But as I un-pack, re-pack, and lug another set of suitcases back and forth across the continent of North America I do so with gratitude for the adventure, fearlessness in the face of uncertainty and faith in the eventual manifestation of the balance between grounded sanctuary and electrifying rich moment to moment experience.

Synthetic Bones

2010-07-30T22:30:00.000-07:00

The backing track is all that’s playing

There’s no lead line, no one singing the tune

Whats the matter with these people

Its not even the afternoon

Things are getting messy here

Hearts are getting thrown aside

Stacks of records flip themselves

In the haze and the crowd there’s always somewhere to hide

And the reckless ones go home alone

But somehow their beds stay full

And the fragile ones call home to mom

Cause the big bad wolf, he got you good

Savagery is a barred up face

No one home, no lights left on

As a one man pageant trundles forward

With no one man band to call upon

Things are getting messy here

Hearts are getting thrown aside

Stacks of records flip themselves

In the haze and the crowd there’s always somewhere to hide

Left to the alley, lost to the chattering of synthetic bones

Some kindly litter reaches out to you

And makes some space in their litter box home

God says be grateful, (and the suit says watch out)

Because sooner or later you’ll be on trial for your doubt

Things are getting messy here

There’s a lot to be accounted for

Hearts are getting thrown aside

Records lay fondled and abandoned covering the floor

In the haze and the crowd

And in the bite of the gun

There’s always somewhere to hide

Until the last song is done

Rants at a Picnic

2010-07-29T22:05:00.000-07:00

What is this ugly desire within all of us to “be right”, or “one up”? I love debate, I have always enjoyed passionate conversation, but there is a huge difference in my opinion between engaging in spirited discussion and being argumentative. It baffles my mind sometimes how people can be so achingly unaware of the nonsense vomiting out of their mouths. This kind of unproductive reactionary ego driven jockeying on behalf of some half read article or self serving hypothesis is what keeps us in constant mental chatter, an endless cycle of suffering.

We all have within us the sore loser, the sore winner, and the humble versions of both. Throughout the course of a day we all engage in status or power plays to one degree or another, and I am not above this. But I do try to be aware of what my triggers to play these ridiculous games are and where I fall short of humility, true listening and productive passivity. If I practice this awareness maybe I can shorten the time it takes me to become aware that it is happening right down to the moment itself and then stop it before it happens and begin to change the pattern. I try also to identify my personal boundaries and know when I should “just let it go” or when I should stand up for something I believe in.

I am one of the least confrontational people around. If you manage to push my buttons enough to get me to lash out in the moment then good for you! You must be really skilled at being irritating! I am certainly an advocate for myself but where frustration and anger in social settings is concerned, I like to sit with the feeling for 24 hours and then decide if something needs to be said. I find that there is always a part of these feelings that is ego based (pride, the desire to be right or be in control etc) and then sometimes it also goes beyond that, permeating my core. When this is the case I try to confront the person in a productive way that lets them know what it is I am uncomfortable with without being fueled by self righteousness. On the odd occasion when I do react bubbling and bothered in the heat of a moment, it usually means someone has crossed a particular line three times too many and needs to know that my openness and jovial nature does NOT equal me being a door mat or an energetic recycling bin.

The subject of finding the balance between being open and having personal boundaries is a fascination of mine. But we’ll save that for another day :)

By now it is probably apparent that I had a “run in” with such a conversational predator today and it left me disappointed in the true intelligence of that person. I doubt there will be a reconciliation, I am not interested in an apology or trying to have a better relationship. It is in my nature to let everyone in right off the bat, to hand out mountains of respect; but once you shred the last of it: GONE. You are no longer allowed anywhere near this burning ball of light. My severity is not driven by ego, I can say that sincerely. It is driven by my passion for the human experience of communion. I love connecting with people and when someone opens up to me and allows me to experience their unbridled truth I never take it for granted. But those who choose time and time again to take axes and knives to the picnics of the human heart will no longer be invited. We have too much work to do and fun to have to indulge such disregard and toxicity.

My prayer is to continue to grow in light, to be willing to unravel myself and let go of my need to be right or the centre of attention at the cost of an opportunity to connect with another. I am not perfect, nor am I trying to be (there is no such thing) but I hope for a better, less polluted collective mental landscape. And I am willing to start with my own.

Cry Baby

2010-07-27T22:11:00.000-07:00

Why is it often only crisis that brings us to our knees? When life beats down, obligations come a calling, health deteriorates or personal relationships fail we finally surrender and ask our own soul, and perhaps the sky, God, or a therapist for help. It is in these times we realise that years of unexpressed/unexplored feelings are marching towards victory and our mental and emotional defenses aren’t going to hold any longer. But where did these defenses come from? And what was so terrifying about feeling that we had to construct them in the first place?

When I am feeling strong, when I am in my warrior self and have the energy for all of life’s outer tasks I often find myself missing the times of my greatest sensitivity, when I’ve been tired and raw with my heart unravelled in my open palms in search of peace. These times are uncomfortable, and we are raised to believe that happy means good and sadness is bad. I prefer the word sensitivity to sadness, because I am coming to find that when I feel this way it is because I am resonating with life, sometimes its my own and the obstacles on my journey and sometimes it is the old lady's next door watering her plants and my contemplation of her fulfilled or unfulfilled ambitions. And it is this kind of essential compassion that is the delicate and passionate art of a life well lived.

As artists we strive for this kind of emotional overload and rough sandpaper-against-our-skin sensitivity. Its where we get the juice from. And the patrons of our art come because they want to feel through the work they see or hear or read. We all want to feel. It is my mounting belief that by judging some emotions and rewarding others we are creating a/contributing to an already existing paradigm that blocks everything up, only allowing the most extreme circumstances to break the dam.

I crave the heart of it all. I yearn to rub up against the magic in all things. I want to live from a place of greatest sensitivity. My idea of the good life includes, belly laughs and heaving cries, smiles that hurt my face and hugs that break my arms. And if that means some days where I feel like I’ve had the shit kicked out of me then so be it. I’m not waiting for another quarter life crisis to find out that being repressed and British ain’t for me.

Post Script: In the glorification and condemnation of the extremes we tend cling to the times we remember as being the best or the worst. Free in the present moment to feel whatever comes to pass means that life will find its rhythms in the expression of this life and I won’t need to hold on to know that I am alive.

Perfect

2010-07-21T21:55:00.000-07:00

I want to say that I always know what’s best for me; that in the moment I will choose ultimate acts of self love. I will choose that which fills me, grounds me, sets me at peace, makes me proud to be in this skin, proud from deep in my star shine right up and out of my eyes. But sometimes I choose things that are not good for me, sometimes I reveal to myself the dark side, show myself I’m not all free yet. I rip myself open, I fray the edges and pray for healing, I get lazy, I live in past or future, I dwell or indulge or hold too tight or just plain miss the point, miss the wonderment.

I know the truth of things. The core of me has always been able to see what I am growing towards. And its a marvelous place and time and state of self, and it will shift again and again and I will reach beyond even that furthest stretch of my inner imagination. And its not so much that I imagine it as I intuit it, I know the woman of my future, I feel her feelings, I see myself unravelled further, freer, clearer, more thankful. Which makes some of the current underdeveloped or over-indulged parts of my personality, psyche and ego stick out awkwardly to me all the more. I know I’m growing towards the goodness, but that knowledge doesn’t mean I get a free pass. I still have to live through each phase and stage. Each year the lessons get harder and I know less and less who I am and what my purpose is. My mirror is getting cleaned by someone up there and I have no doubt in the process but I feel this giant wave of surrender that still has to happen. And that means never trying to be somewhere or someone I’m not, even if my soul knows all the inevitable future destinations.

And then I remember. It is happening. I am not sitting around waiting for this process to begin... it is happening. And its not always blissful, or comfortable, and the awareness of the weird or unhealthy or selfish choices is part of the growing. I don’t feel like I am growing up... I am growing in. I am making a comfortable home here in this body, in this little life. I spoke with a friend today about the pressure I often put on myself to make these “right” choices, to be this perfect manifestation of truth all at once, right NOW! And its a beautiful thing that I know what living from that place would feel like, but I am an inside-out person. When its ripe on the inside, the outside will reveal it. Discipline is a beautiful thing, it can be. But being ready to discipline oneself from a place of self love rather than self loathing is a whole mountain in and of itself.

So many times we localise these “problems”: eating, smoking, exercise, mental states, sleep patterns. We put them, these parts of ourselves and our relationships to them under a microscope and say: this is the bit that is bad. We seek to change it, convert it, and often we project all of our fears and insecurities of not being “good enough” (for what?) onto this particular part. As if by dissolving this one thing, pattern, habit we will become whole. Guess how much anxiety and frustration this heaps on to this already very difficult task? One time, in a deep and foggy depression I realised that the judgement of myself for being depressed was actually far more debilitating than the sadness or low that I was experiencing. Once I was willing to release the judgement of that “side” of me and let it just be what I was experiencing at that time, the heaviness began to rise.

I am all for healthy minds and bodies, for feeling good and being at peace. I think the revolution of health, consciousness and looking inward is awe inspiring. But I fear that the ego, that many minds will take this journey, take the books and the cleanses and workshops and use them to try and eradicate parts of the self and therefore perpetuate pain and never truly learn acceptance and love of self. But in the spirit of living from a love based place, I release that fear and switch the intention to: I love that there are other people on the path to healing and wherever they are at with that and themselves is perfect. Where I am is perfect.

A Full Life

2010-07-20T23:56:00.000-07:00

Focused on the hands

Moving swift and soft

Across the frets

Fingers pressed tight to the strings

I want to learn the guitar

I want to play the guitar

There is an unknit sweater in me too

A delicious case of homemade jam

blackberries picked by my babies and me

in some far flung future August

On the perimeters of my farm

There are dirty hands,

Worn from work and seeking holding,

There are books and plays and poems

Poems enough to fill the fields of that farm

from the earth to the sky

Words scattered and free to fly and make

their own sense

So many dances

Fast and slow and alone and

pressed up against the one for me

Too many brushings of my tangled mane

How many hair colours?

How many cities?

Teapots?

Bumpy flights and sleepless nights?

Belly laughs to the wall or the window

or the steering wheel, all alone and crazy?

Lonely to the bone moments?

Perfect perfect pots of rice

cooked without a care?

Worth the wait are all these things

Though some I hurry on,

Some I chase like tigers

And with some I play it cool,

Knowing it will trickle down my spine one day:

a bead of sweat well earned.

I am growing at the rate of freedom,

Willing to be out of time

And fresh to the feeling that I am

I am there, I am that I am, I am that I am there

I am that I am here,

And I am that I am everywhere

The Show Must Go On

2010-07-17T15:34:00.000-07:00

Being from the most beautiful part of the world, adjusting to life in Ontario (specifically Toronto) has been a bit of a struggle. Always one to try and find the silver linings I have turned my face to the sky above my current coordinates in search of gratitude and found here not silver linings but big dark grey electro-magnetically charged ones.

The best part about Ontario is the thunder and lightening. There is an abundance of energy in the summer, it pulses through the sky and explodes at intervals into strips and sheets of pink, purple and white light. The sky rocks big base beats and as it gets closer the storm gets further in, when right over head you can feel it in your bones. Sometimes these sights and sounds come out of a dry sky, other times (like now) there is a flash flood than can last for 5 minutes or 5 hours. I have never seen anything like it (and having hometowns on Vancouver Island and Northern England, the two rainiest places on earth, that is a BIG statement). And I LOVE it. It is inspiring, shocking, sexy and full of the guts of life. And sometimes it will catch you just at the moment when you need the hand of Thor (!) to pull you up and dust you off and in some way renew or surprise you into living in the cracks again.

Today is Saturday, which means a two show day. 2:30 matinee and 8 o’clock evening performance. The one I’m working on right now is pretty full-on in a lot of ways, my character's journey spans from age 7-24 and in every show I re-discover how physical I can get with it; for example today I thought that I pulled my groin halfway through Act II. I did not thankfully! But something else completely unexpected happened during the matinee, something so big even me in my “show must go on” mind thought it would derail us or as a result the show would be stopped by stage management.

I had just run off stage right followed by the lead character in an effort to stop her son/my husband from killing his brother (tricky tricky... they don’t know they’re brothers! Twins! She gave one of them away at birth and they found each other and became friends, well we all did... until my husband went to jail for assisting in an armed robbery turned murder, got addicted to anti depressants after which I started up an affair with the secret other brother... CRAZY!). So its the last 8-10 minutes of the show, we have just run off and the Narrator is singing and BANG! The power goes out. He doesn’t miss a beat or a note (even though lights disappear and the monitors and speakers for the band cut out and he had no music to sing to) and the next scene begins as dim emergency lights kick in. Back stage and side stage we have front of house people and stage management running around trying to make decisions as to whether to continue or not. At this point I am usually at the back of the theatre waiting to enter at the final moments to witness both my husband and lover die (serious Greek tragedy style). Three of the front of house ladies enter the theatre from the back with giant flashlights, shining them on the action so the audience can see the scene unfold. I guess we are pressing on.... So I put all thoughts of: “What will happen when the band is supposed to come in for the final number?” “Will we sing acapella?” or “What if the power kicks in mid scene or song” or “Is the audience so far out of the suspension of disbelief that all of this will be a farce now?” as far out of my mind as I can and follow the lead of my fellow cast mates.

In the bare minimally lit theatre it got more real not less. There was no band, no lights, nothing but people telling a story and it burned me under my skin. A haunting, harsh, and visceral portrait emerged from the raw acapella song of a mother in anguish. There was nothing to hide behind and there could be no pretending that you weren’t just a person on a stage telling a story, there could be no trickery, no big show. It didn’t matter that the sounds of the gun shots had to be yelled by our stage manager, it honestly didn’t. Live theatre is a magnificent thing when its on this sort of cusp of vulnerability and paper thin flooring. Everyone did their part, the final number emerged from within every member of the cast without help of piano and at times imperfect in its harmonies but so much more perfect than any other time in my artists soul opinion. I didn’t feel badly for the audience who saw the show that “went all wrong”, because it didn’t go wrong at all. I was so proud and so pleased that truth was born; and shoved into the present moment the cast was unified in the simple purpose of fulfilling the journeys of these characters and closing the book on the bed time story we had started.

It will never be for me just “that show where the power went out”, this afternoon restored some mis placed faith and reminded me that this work is a valid offering and has potent and powerful potential. And when I changed out of my costume the hairs on my arms and neck were still all pointed upwards to the sky, to the thunder, to the lightening, to the gods, to the rains that came to wash away the excess and leave me naked and new again.

my ten hour head ache (i wish i was down with taking asprin)

2010-07-10T21:40:00.000-07:00

when nothing feels a comfort

no pillow, tea, or song will do

not even a lullaby written especially for you

when the body is heavy

but the mind wants its turn

the two are at odds, union has to be earned

when lonely is scratched vinyl

and only the the sad songs will play

but even then you can’t bear to throw it away

when a dream’s hiding itself

trouble seems to call off the search

you’re not in a cage but you’re stuck on your perch

when synapses are firing

but there’s no sense to it all

and you keep trying to jump when all you need is to fall

You Don't Need A Weatherman To Know Which Way The Wind Blows - B. Dylan

2010-07-09T09:35:00.000-07:00

Isn’t it strange how somehow it seems okay to harshly criticize those who have achieved some sort of public renown or material success? When going to see the work of an independent artist, a film maker or songstress say, I am very reluctant to pass any kind of judgement unless it is very well considered and coming from a place that understands how difficult it can be to single handedly manifest one’s creative vision. But when going to a movie at the Cineplex or listening to what fills the radio waves I have no problem turning on my critical eyes or ears.

But, the offering is still the offering. There is still intense vulnerability (often even more so once the expectation of producing “good” work is heaped on) for those who have to some degree been “successful”. To be clear, I must say that much of my critique of pop culture or art that is produced for the masses comes from the place of: you had THAT MUCH money to play with, THAT MANY people to support your creation and really? Thats all you could come up with? And the frustration that accompanies having a lot of ideas I’d love someone to throw some money at, and very talented friends around me who given those kinds of opportunities would work tirelessly until they had something truthful and well crafted to offer.

Perhaps its that old adage “If you don’t really try, you can’t really fail” that is at the heart of why so much of the art in pop culture is, to be blunt, shitty and hollow. Its pretty scary to dig down deep into one's mental, emotional and physical pockets and give it everything not knowing how it will be received or for the sensitive artists among us (I'm pretty sure that's all of us) if we will be able to match our personal aesthetic expectations (but that's a whole other entry). And if you know you're decent at something, that you can get a B+ without really trying, why try then right? Maybe its a collective adherence to mediocrity and shallow efforts, easy listening as a way to remain always somewhat unconscious and unchallenged. The more of us that subconsciously agree to stay buried in the blankets the easier it is to live a day that is patterned and habitual requiring little thought or innovation. But often we go to art, the theatre, the movies, and concert halls to be inspired, informed, to feel. But there is a fear out there amongst a lot (not all!) of artistic directors and producers alike that if the piece is too “heady” or “different” or is played with any level of subtlety or intimacy, that the audience will get bored, and that by requiring them to be involved and actively thinking will drive down ticket sales. And maybe it will for while, but serving that fear season after season, film after film, album after album will only thicken the veil and make it harder to emerge from. Pure entertainment is a valid service but at the cost of substance? I have no interest in contributing to this in the world. And it is my belief that they are not mutually exclusive and that in fact one informs and enriches the other.

It is funny to me that it is so often the singer songwriter with his or her evocative soul pulling melodies that awaken and inspire even the sleepiest and unexpected listener to “listen to the words”. Music speaks a language of its own, and maybe because its the original instrument and the same tool with which we cry sorrow, love, and all kinds of hunger, the human voice has the capacity to draw people from deep in the soul upwards to the cognitive functions of the mind and trick people into thinking, into contemplation. Why do you think music is one of the first things to be attacked or prohibited in times of oppressive government? If the goal and role of government is to get us all to tow the line and agree to the fact that this way is the only or best way, then keeping everyone from jumping up and wriggling their hips and moving out that stuck energy, keeping us all in nap time is probably a good idea.

But to bring it all back, I actually feel for those who have achieved great success and continue to contribute. It must be very difficult not to let the expectations of investors, critics and the public cripple the creative freedom. I don’t appreciate abuse of power or neglecting of responsibility that comes with power or the taking for granted of the resources given to help create; but as far as the humanness that comes with exposing one’s ideas, dreams, fears and desires and serving it up in a 90 minute story or a 3 minute song (or any other such form of public expression) I understand how pointed that can feel, how raw, and I understand the simple need to have it all affirmed, to want the head nod or the standing ovation. There are some lessons that I expect we probably never fully evolve past, and the need for approval and reward is in my opinion, one of them. My goal is to find my way to a space where where it is not a block or a toxic force robbing me of my power where that desire to be "good" or "liked" is immediately recognisable quite simply as mis-directed energy and be able to manipulate, or better yet- set it free to become pure creative energy.

I pray daily to continue meeting my tribe, my army, of fellow creatives who are in search of the balance between contemplation and expression, provocation and service to the uniting of the humanness and effervescence that connects us all to this mixed up experience on earth.

The Search for Stillness in Sociability

2010-07-09T00:52:00.000-07:00

The day can start with one range of feeling and then descend or ascend into a whole other stratosphere of possibility or localized angst. It is so often that I find myself full of wisdom for a loved one or even a stranger but when I turn the searchlight inward all I see is fog and haze. This blog is turning into such the balance of expression and meditation.

It is said that perspective is everything. So much of spiritual ascension is the ability to apply that perspective at any given moment, especially in the heat of moments that tend to trigger past patterns or reaction-ism. But I have found it hard to strike the balance between trusting myself to be in the moment acting honestly and authentically to what lies before me and taking a moment to evaluate and temper my response making sure it isn’t ego or fear based. And let’s be honest, it is not really socially acceptable to reply to someone’s comment or question by taking a real full moment to go inward to one’s lily pad or sacred space to find the truth in what we feel.

So what? I guess the answer is found in working to lessen the gap between the time it takes to hear (truly hear) the words of the other and acknowledge the pure resonance within. We are mirrors for one another, reflections. And this journey of purification and clearing can be a service, and offering; it is not a selfish act to take this time. It is my belief that in that cleaning of myself, of my mirror, I am then allowing the other to see their perfection more clearly. And so maybe I am quiet more, or for longer before I come back with my answer, or even my banter. And then so maybe at first glance I’m not acknowledged as the smartest or the fastest in the room (ooooh my ego would HATE that!). We are rewarded for being quick, witty, funny. And it is true that often the best response is the one that is unheeded by too much thought. Its true that our instincts are tied to our hearts and our guts, our sensitivity and our power. But I’m not talking about thinking more, what I am talking about has to do with feeling more with that heart, those guts, and feeling whatever it is, more deeply. What I am talking about requires the bravery, the vulnerability that comes with not knowing and being seen in that state, until what is known, what is embedded in the knowledge of the soul comes out through the playfulness and offering of the spirit. And wouldn’t that be a nice kind of conversation to have?

St Francis of Assisi

2010-07-07T21:12:00.000-07:00

Laura Mary McCarthy... it don't get much more catholic than that! However, my namesake aside, I've not been sporting much of my family's spiritual lineage in my adult life. Like many modern seekers I am turned off by rules rules rules and the prevalent hypocrisy and close mindedness that is so entwined with organised religion.

None are perfect, all have their beautiful allegories and prophetic poets; and all have their archaic laws and contradictory practices. I am intrigued by it all; especially the part where mucky human hands tried to take a picture of the divine, develop it, make copies, package it, market it, sell it and then manhandle it until it was almost unrecognizable and covered in fat fingerprints. We are flawed and thus then are our interpretations... How can we describe the ineffable? And how then can we go beyond that still and attempt to decipher the message and meaning of that which we can’t comprehend in the first place? The history of much of the world's religions and how we've come to relate to them and their stories is much like a group of school children playing a game of telephone.

But I love dialogue (and monologue apparently), and I think that the stories are important and plan in my life to read the Bible, the Bhagavad Gita, the Tao Te Ching and the Qur'an (hold me to this and check back and ask me when I'm 40 where I'm at okay?). I enjoy talking about and trying to grasp some understanding of what is holding all these molecules together. I do believe in a God, and I believe what ever it is lives within all of us, connecting our minds and hearts; and I am interested in what every person I know and don’t know thinks about this too. Some days its all I’m interested in. Because I found my way in all of this very much alone and certainly not only on Sundays I wonder sometimes what it must be like to have a particular faith, sometimes I wish I had just one book to reference and a place and person I could ask my big questions, a ritual for forgiveness, and a conscious time for prayer.

When I took my beautiful Nanna to church a few years ago I was in the thick of my own seeking but open to experiencing her way of connecting with the divine. This woman brings tears to my eyes on a regular basis, but that hour with her, in the same church my parents married in, that I was baptised in, that she attends every Sunday to pray for me and my family’s health and happiness, well it was almost more than I could take. I didn’t find God that morning in the stained glass windows or the gross little cracker I took in communion, I found God in between my Nanna and me; she believes, really truly believes and watching her pray was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. I was still struggling with the fullness of my belief. But being there with her was proof of everything. All of the traditions and formalities and even the semi creepy hymn referencing damnation fell away and the truth of God showed itself in my Nanna’s face when we turned to one another to shake hands and say, “Peace be with you”.

I think I turned my back on Catholicism right after my first communion. I had my first confession and first communion all in the same weekend. The confession part really took it out of me, I was in there for ages; if I was going to do this I would do it right and confess everything I had ever done that could possibly be interpreted as a sin even sighting specific times and dates where I could. I confessed so much that the priest laughed and eventually said “That’s enough my child”.

The next day was the communion, some of the kids were nervous but I was loving it. My dress was perfect and my mum had even given in and let me get the hairband I wanted. A truly great day. After it was all said and done, I turned to my Dad and asked, “So Dad, what next?” I figured I was pretty good at this religion thing and wanted to go forth and conquer the next level (it felt like passing a swimming test, and at 8 years old I was already up to the red level in swimming). My Dad replied “Well Laura, the next thing is your confirmation”. He then went on to describe it in great detail but I stopped listening right after he said “At your confirmation you get to take on the name of a saint”. My mind was racing, a chance to reinvent myself! Laura felt like such a boring name, Laura Mary McCarthy, boring boring boring (for the record I love my name now)... I butted in, “Any saint?”. “Yes,” my Dad replied, “Any saint recognised by the Catholic church”. “I know!” I cried in clever excitement, “I am going to be St Francis of Assisi!” Long pause. “That’s a man” my Dad reminded. But I knew that, I knew everything about St Francis. “I know Dad, I know he’s a man. But you said ANY saint and he is my favourite. He is the nicest and he loves animals and I especially like the ‘of Assisi’ part. That is who I’m going to be”. Probably very used to my precocious nature by then my father patiently but firmly came back with “Laura, we might be able to find a female saint named Francis or Francine or Francesca (he was really testing me here... Francesca was my favourite name and only doll’s name) but you absolutely cannot have the ‘of Assisi’ part”. Secretly hoping he would eventually cave, I decided to stay firm in my resolve, “Then I don’t want to be confirmed. St Francis of Assisi is my favourite saint and if I can’t be him then I will not do it thank you”. I still had three more years in Catholic day school ahead of me but in spite of that consistent influence, I went no further in my extra-curricular spiritual studies.

After those three years I’d really had enough of it all and another ten passed until I went voluntarily to a church service, that Sunday with my Nan. But that day opened me back up to the pure reasons behind it all: the physical structure of a place of worship, a time each week to go, a community of people to connect to and connect to God with, the rituals and rites of passages, the leaders. These things that I have found extraneous on my path are not extraneous for most. For some, like my Nanna, they are even cherished. And like everything and everywhere the Truth is not found in the dualities: good, bad, extraneous, necessary... the Truth/God is in the cracks and crevices, is grey in every lightness and darkness, is now, is single ego-less breath, is the effort to dress up and sit in a cold church hoping something will happen to your soul, is in the flicker of the flame, and so could just as easily be found in a pulpit or a pew or a “Peace be with you” as readily as on a yoga mat or in a wave’s perfect curl or the smell of the dinner your lover cooked for you. Why not?

Christianity isn’t very cool these days, and Catholicism? The closest Catholicism has been to cool was when someone made those “Jesus is my homeboy”/”Mary is my homegirl” t-shirts a few years ago. But I’m coming around to it... I’m letting go of the judgements and being open to it having as much to teach me as Zen Buddhism or Sufism (you know, the cool religions). And Catholicism has two things that no other sect, denomination, religion or faith based group in the world has: St Francis of Assisi and my Nanna! I’m not rushing out to buy a bible or a rosary nor do I have any interest in seeking out any Sunday services, I’m still fine here on my own finding my way in it all... But you better bet that the next time these walking shoes take me back to my English home town I’ll be taking Nan to mass; and my next trip to Italy will absolutely have to include a stop in Assisi to pay homage to the good man Francis.

Post Script:

The inspiration for this rather indulgent and lengthly entry came from a CBC pod cast I listened to this morning (while doing yoga I might add... that's called multi-faith multi-tasking). It is from a show called Tapestry that is pretty much my version of church; it is on Sundays (but I usually download it and listen to it at some random point in the week... like Wednesday morning) and features guests of all religions, disciplines and walks of life centering around something in the realm of spirit and discovery. They have had artists, poets, priests, scientists, humanists, zen masters, you name it! Today was a Franciscan priest named Richard Rohr. He follows the teachings of.... guess!? St Francis! I didn’t even know there was such a denomination. I found him to be very articulate, very open and progressive, and very much focused on living in this jumbled world with a clear mind and a full heart. I am including a link to the pod cast below... if you’ve got an hour to spare and want some brain and soul nutrients tune in.

http://www.cbc.ca/tapestry/podcast.html

Being Scared of Getting Old

2010-07-06T19:48:00.000-07:00

Incremental steps

We age

We fret

Tomorrow’s coming too fast to feel this

But I’m chased by the memory of a lost lovers kiss

Playing with a wrecking ball

Its not much fun

Doesn’t bounce at all

And what if that house ain’t ready to fall?

Picking scabs

Just passing time

If I waste the day will the sun still shine?

Blessed blistering heat you rise

And rise and rise and rise and rise

You burn my skin and pierce my eyes

So quick you came and robbed my sleep

And soon you’ll go and I’ll be deep

In snow and old and life will roll

And I’ll miss you sun, when my skin will sag

And my bones go soft and I’ve learned to nag

So for now go on: scorch me, melt me down

I be leavin' tie-dye foot prints all over this town

Let GO!

2010-07-05T21:03:00.000-07:00

Let go and let God.

Huh?

How exactly?

When I am sitting across from a good friend all fired up about something that has me enraged and I pause long enough for them to squeeze in the immortal words: “Maybe you should just let it go” I throw up my inner spiritual spikes and frustrate myself into oblivion. I know they’re right. I know that stewing and satiating that critic, that judge, that tormenter, that worry wart, that fearful child will only magnify the issue at hand. There are instances I recall when detaching from a situation was indeed the only remedy. There are others however that required some serious powers of discernment in order to understand what exactly had me rattled so that I could establish clearer boundaries. The line between the two can be so thin; I don’t wish to indulge petulance but I am always and forever seeking to understand my experience more fully. Judgement is discernment’s wicked step-sister....

But when it comes to: “Just letting go”, how exactly is one to achieve this immortal feat? Letting go of the general stress of the day can be solved with a bath, a cup of tea, or some moments of silence. But letting go of the stress of particularly pointy past pain? Anyone out there have an olympic swimming pool sized claw foot tub filled with fine first rate tea in a padded sound proof bathroom? Do we really need ritual to release? Therapy? Shamans? Month long silent retreats? That last one would probably create a whole new world of pain for yours truly...

I lit some fire works tonight. And as they sparked and spun and nearly scarred my hands for life I didn’t pray for change or attach significance or symbols to each one. I just watched them dance and laughed and dove into the grass as cars passed by, afraid I’d get in trouble. There was fun, there was living, there was willingness; there was space, presentness and even a tiny touch of inner freedom... and if God would like to take that as a cue to swoop in and help a sister out with some energetic vacuuming that’d be great.

If not, I’m open to letting go, to release, to unravelling, to learning all this. I am willing. But I’m not quite sure how it will happen. So if I’m praying for anything, its that the how will swoop in and take me by surprise. I am ready for the teacher to appear.

Good Night

2010-07-04T23:11:00.000-07:00

Getting started on the work of the day, why is that often so much easier at night? My morning hours have been clear in the past. I understand the freshness of early sun; but lately I am found more full and fevered in the hours between 11PM and 3AM. The artist hours... the creative underbelly.

Is this a cop out? Or a making up for a disorganised or undisciplined day? That’s probably part of it... But there sure is something to be said for the time when the mind has rested and detangled the day’s events and is ready to process its happenings. When I have broken through the 7PM wall of tired I light up again at 9 or 10 and begin pottering around, making not much sense or work of anything until I finally sit at that sacred 11 and feel compelled to write (or to be honest, sometimes surf the internet and compare flight prices for fantasy trips).

It feels more likely I’ll find solace in the darkness. I’m more open to exploring the depth of my ideas in the night. I would rather wander around feeling for something in the black unsure of what it will be. Because although the morning promises hope, it also inspires this feeling of “How many of the 8000 things I want to accomplish will I even attempt to pick up today?”. The pressure I feel in the morning is so overwhelming sometimes, it cuts off my air supply and I need to take a break before the day has even begun.

I am told that the hours before sunrise are sacred hours, sattvic hours. This means that they are the most potently charged times. It sure would be nice to arise at dawn and go outside and feel the wet grass between my toes jostle my eyes open a little further. How to untangle this pattern? Sleeping pills crushed into tea at 8PM? A bold alarm at 6AM? I always pray that these kinds of re-alignments will occur naturally. And perhaps it will... or perhaps I need to kick my own ass or get some sort of child lock on my computer that activates itself at midnight each night.

The Critic

2010-07-03T21:26:00.000-07:00

Why can’t I silence the critic in my head? He or she or it (I imagine this critic to be an androgynous muppet like creature) is getting louder and louder when I’m on stage yelling: YOU STINK! as if its some kind of chant! I don’t remember dealing with this so viscerally before. And the show must go on. 8 times a week in fact.

Is meditation the key? Is it making stronger choices? Is it taking a break from acting? Or finding the right coach, teacher, director, project? Is it the foods I am eating or the hours I am sleeping? Is it the energy of the cast or the heat of the day? Is it this audience? Am I in the gap between phases or mountains?

And then there is THAT voice! Trying her best (this one is DEFINITELY female) to figure out everything while I am in that moment.

Exhausting no?

So what is it?

I have a feeling that these voices have lived inside of me all my life and will probably never disappear completely. They are archetypes, they are in fact tools, parts of the human psyche that at times need nurturing and at times given a good spanking (or the silent treatment). I expect a lot from my work, from myself. But its not all there yet, I’m not all there yet. I exist largely in the illusive ether and that sometimes makes craftsmanship and repetition hard for me. I get scared of tangible tools, of understanding the building blocks of things... I want to cut to the chase, the meat, the guts, the silver thread that links it all together. But I need to be able to be conscious on stage, and in all my creative endeavours, I need to remain calm but full of energy, in control of my body, my movements, my performance but open to the moment and not TRYING to be in control. Conscious but surrendered... is that it? Free but focused (did I just quote Alanis?)... There is great freedom in focus. Present. Isn’t that always it? Oh Eckhart, remind me again? It is though, isn’t it? Presentness is always it. And as it pertains to this: worry, anxiety, fear of judgement are all projections OUT of the moment into either the future looking back on the experience judging whether or not it was GOOD or BAD, or into the vault of past pain and disappointment.

I guess freaking out about how I’m going to find my way into the present moment and stay there probably won’t help me get there. So I’ll finish my tea, tasting each small sip and then see where I land.

What is Woman?

2010-07-02T09:48:00.002-07:00

What is woman?

Breasts?

Giver of life?

Tactile example of sanctuary, room to grow?

Carnivore?

Chaser of seed?

Competitor in the race to create life?

My favourite answer of the moment is: potent creative energy. Creative midwife. We house the idea, we feed it, we let it live in our bodies, we share our blood and breath. We endure painful labour to bring it into being. We let ourselves be changed in service of this.

Some of us choose to be literal mothers; but we all are walking around with this energy burning inside of us. We are carried forward by this potential to create, to nurture, to give rise to something new. What I'm interested in is, how do we hold this power? How does its current flow? Are we aware of its ferocity, of the depth of its tenderness? It is there for the taking, for use in our endeavours, our growth, our vibrancy.... what are we giving birth to in word and deed? How do we harness this power? And once we figure that out, what do we invest it in?

I am writing today inspired by two of my dearest soul sisters. They live in different countries, they don't know each other, but they are part of the same tribe... we are building something here. It is no coincidence that a few weeks ago you both started blogs, you both opened your questions and discoveries to the world. So, in the spirit of the harnessing, the interplay of outer alignment and inner power, with purity, with strength and fearlessness in the spirit of YOU, I open my thoughts too.

Namaste

Addiction

2010-06-02T17:46:00.000-07:00

The thing about addiction is that it spins and swirls and stops at nothing to keep itself alive. If you're careless enough this nebula will turn into a black hole that will engulf everything in its sight. The first thing it goes after is free will, then will power, then power to discern... this venomous beast can not help itself. It is fulfilling its purpose: to stay alive.

How to switch it? A change in address can be helpful... to quickly uproot and run is a preferred method of combat for many. But what to do if running isn't an option, or if the black hole's dust has buried deep enough that tiny particles follow you?

Then we must jog on the spot. We must cartwheel. We must sleep. We must nourish and bathe until the skin and soul are clean and you, and I, become the black hole soaking up knowledge and wisdom and only things that point to liberation.

Surrender is the highest mountain of them all

Spiritual Birthday

2010-03-23T22:18:00.001-07:00

3 rotations of the sun ago I was putting myself back together after a period of unraveling I like to call my "quarter life crisis". The story of that is indeed another story but as it pertains to today's post I will mention it along with the fact that I was really and truly in the heart of and on the cusp of adventure. A two week stint at an ashram in the mountains seemed a perfect compliment to my trip to New York City which was proving to be both exhilarating and exhausting. I was finding my compass...

I was to work in the greenhouse, this was my karma yoga, for 4 hours a day with a man named Paul who when I asked "So what brought you here?" replied: "A 62' Dodge". I planted rows upon rows of spinach; little tiny seeds that in my brief stay I would come to see poke their first sprouts above the soil. My crisis had left me flying high in the ether of untethered existence and somehow it was perfectly aligned that I was to spend the bulk of each day with my hands in the earth.

The day was book ended with meditation, chanting, reading and prayer. I have not been so much for the structure of such things, but the familiar rhythm of ritual was as grounding as playing with earth worms. Most of the time, the satsang was led by a man named Krishnadas. He was inappropriately gorgeous for a man of his celibate status; he seemed to glow from the inside like his blood was actually pure Norwegian spring water. And he played those tablas like it was hot jazz. Most of the time it was Krishnadas at the helm of these operations, steering our varying numbers towards Spirit; but sometimes the resident Brahman priest dressed in orange and all of about 5 feet would be our guide, using little English and chanting long Sanskrit recitations.

I have never met or seen another person before or since who has so apparently been able to control the flow of their own energy at will. This small yet mighty 60-80 year old man (these people don't seem to age... only get wiser and more intense) would walk down the hall head high and brow relaxed yet engaged; as he got closer I would observe myself preparing for an average social interaction: perhaps a "Hi, how are you?" or "Good morning"... and he would often breeze by with no acknowledgement leaving you to wallow in your own attachments to societal norms and your disappointment at these expectations not being met.

There were a few occasions however when I saw this serious spiritual scholar reach down into the depths of his heart and erupt in a belly laugh or an ear to ear grin that would immediately illuminate the entire ranch. His eyes would shine pure love at you and all would be right with the world. One of these times was when a fellow karma yogi and I were making chai from scratch in the kitchen and he began poking fun at us for our unnecessarily fancy western recipe (he then proceeded to make us the most delicious tea I have ever tasted out of simply: milk, black tea, ginger, cinnamon and sugar... lots of sugar). Another was when we were outside at dawn celebrating the Equinox and from his bare feet (standing on two feet of fresh Catskills snow) to his bald head he ignited as the sun rose and he sung the final stanza of his chant. And the third time was during my naming ceremony at which he chose me my spiritual name for this life. That was three years ago today... the details of which are between a seeker and her teacher, but I can say this much: from the hard earned lofty place of thought this man was operating from, he imparted on me the wisdom I needed to go forward: You are pure, pray for ego-lessness, you shine brightly and the moon loves you.

Happy Spiritual Birthday to me.

catapult me to the sliver moon

2010-03-18T20:14:00.000-07:00

There are those ‘dark nights of the soul’, certainly there are. But more often than those (which are sometimes in their inverted way glorious and help put one right again), more often than those are the infinitely trickier sepia toned evenings staring up at the sun spent sky. These nights are illustrious in their ambiguity, irritating in their refusal to be anything but slightly uneven: am I lonely, frightened, wound up, procrastinating, hungry, still breathing? There is a frenetic pace of thought accompanied by a strong sense of purpose. This is a lethal combination that has driven many an artist (practicing or not) mad. How can I distill these thoughts into a well crafted... fill in the blank. How can I listen long enough to decipher the language the muses are speaking tonight? Those wily wenches with their many flavoured tongues....

Can we ever communicate fully? Understand and be understood? Is trying a selfish act of affirmation? How does one know one exists without communication with other? It is the truest test of one’s fundamental belief: can you be at peace alone? If you can be then that means you need no one but you, nothing but your breath to prove your existence. And wouldn’t that be nice.

And why is it that I am obsessed with this question right now? I have been at peace alone. I am not currently at peace alone. It has been a while since I have been at peace alone for any number of consecutive days. I am so unaccustomed to being at peace alone that I could not tell you at this moment whether I am hungry, tired, or almost, what city I am in.