Recover Your Joy

A song of Love

2012-02-02T08:01:00.004-07:00

One of my father's favourite quotes when I was a little girl was, "You can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink."

Yesterday, thinking about a situation with someone I love and my hesitation to intervene when I knew what they were engaging in was hurting them, that quote came to mind.

What's behind the message, I asked myself.

What's buried in my psyche?

What's the limiting belief?

And then it struck me -- beneath the 'here, let me show you the water. you decide whether or not you drink' is the belief -- I am helpless to affect someone else's behaviour.

I think that's what they call. Bullsh*t!

I can't change what other's do but I am not powerless.

I have a voice.

I have the capacity to use it. To speak up and be heard.

Yet, I let the belief that I can't make someone drink the water keep me from even leading them to the well.

Because the limiting belief is -- what's the point?

It's not my business. It's not up to me to intervene.

Actually. It is.

When I see someone doing something that hurts them, it is not up to me to walk away. It's up to me to step in and intervene -- at least to say something so that they know I see them. I hear them. I feel for them -- and love them.

Love is not inactive.

It is constantly in action. In motion. In doing.

Love is.

It's me who isn't always present to doing what I must to create a world of love -- a world where I don't stand on the sidelines watching someone hurt themselves, or watching someone destroy another, or watching people hurt each other or the world around them.

I may not be able to change the world but I sure can change what I do in it to create well-being all around me. And when I see someone hurting, I have the power to step in and ask, "I see your pain. How can I be of service?"

So dad, I know you're gone from this world but I just wanted you to know, I get it. It isn't about leading anyone to water or forcing them to drink. It is about what I do to create opportunities for them to see and know and feel that we are all connected. We are all in this ocean of life together. We are all drinking of the same well of Love. And if the water isn't sweet, I do have the power to pour my voice into its depths and let it rise up in a song of Love.

Namaste.

Practicing Suppleness

2012-02-01T15:32:00.002-07:00

It has been.... one of those days.

A 7:30 am meeting that linked into a 9:30 meeting. An unexpected lunch with C.C.s daughter and an opportunity to help a friend mean I am only now getting back into my office to do some writing.

Which means.... no blog today.

Because... not writing my blog today is an opportunity to practice my word for 2012 -- suppleness.

See you tomorrow!

Namaste.

What Matters

2012-01-31T08:59:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

Like honouring my writing time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namaste.

She does it her way.

2012-01-30T08:07:00.000-07:00

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

And she did. Do it her way.

And she does. Do it her way.

And she is. Amazing.

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

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

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

And I needn't. Worry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She has a voice and she uses it.

It is her way.

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

It is her way.

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

Happy Birthday my darling daughter.

May you always live life your way.

A Long Weekend Retreat

2012-01-27T10:09:00.000-07:00

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

My mind is peaceful.

2012-01-26T07:56:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

My mind is peaceful, my heart is grateful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If a memory hurts you, let it go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am not running.

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

Visions and other magic

2012-01-25T09:06:00.000-07:00

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

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

Putting it down on paper gives clarity to vision.

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

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

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

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

And we pondered and meditated and doodled some more.

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

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

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

It was an opening. A doorway. An expansion.

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

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

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

What a blessing.

This is what 'business' should feel like.

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

Marching Bands and other music of life

2012-01-24T06:15:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namaste.

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

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

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

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

Being the me I want to be

2012-01-23T08:14:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Namaste.

My own obsession

2012-01-20T10:10:00.004-07:00

I decided this morning to enter my meditation with the intent to be the obsessions I felt when in that relationship that hurt me so much. I don't remember how it felt to be so overwhelmed by another's voice that I yearned, waited, was haunted by the thought of his calling, the need to hear his voice to know -- the world is as it should be and I am in my place.

But recently, several people I know are experiencing the letting go of their obsession and I wanted to stand in the light to support their journey.

It was an amazing meditation.

I saw 'my obsession' as a preying mantis, its huge eyes bulging, its mandibles biting into my flesh, its incisors chomping down on my spirit. I wanted to crush it, to shake it off, to flip it away.

I breathed and held it in the light. I surrounded it in love and In Love it transformed itself. Its spindly legs that angled up on either side of its head became wings and it became a dove. But where it was, there was another, and then another, and then another until every insect transformed themselves into doves and I was surrounded by beautiful white doves of hope, of peace, of love.

And I breathed.

Deeply.

And these birds gathered up the thread of my obsession and carried it up into the wind where it became just a wisp of smoke evaporating like the entrails from a jetliner passing overhead on a clear, blue sky day.

Nothing can withstand Love. Nothing can live when Love is present. There is only Love.

And as my obsession evaporated I knew.

I am free.

I knew it. I felt it. I breathed into it.

And I saw my friends, transformed. I held them in the light, surrounding them with love pouring out all over and they became the light and we were one in Love. And Love was One in us.

There is only Love. And Love is God, the Divine, the Bodhavista, Allah, Yaweh.Whatever name we give it, There is only Love and to Love is Divine.

In Love there is only that which we need to know -- Love. Joy. Laughter. Beauty. Peace. Hope. Mystery. Life.

We are all these things and so much more.

We are never our obsessions. Though our obsessions do become us when we let go of Love and believe someone else can give it to us. Someone else holds the key to our obsessions in their hands or in our minds.

Long ago I believed there was a man who could make me happy. Who could give me the world, make my dreams come true.

In Love, I know, I am responsible for my happiness. I am responsible for my dreams. I am my own obsession in Love.

Namaste

Sticking my neck out

2012-01-19T09:19:00.000-07:00

"Behold the turtle. He makes progress only when he stickshis neck out." James Bryant Conant

I read the above quote this morning and was encouraged.

Setting up my own business, looking for contracts, being my own boss all feels like I've stuck my neck out.

And that's a good thing. I may not be a turtle, though at the pace some things are happening I could be, yet sticking my neck out, taking risks, going where I fear to tread are all part and parcel of making progress.

Last night I met with a woman whom I am partnering with in a company we've set up -- Critical Intent Consulting -- From big picture to clarity. One of the questions we explored last night was -- What is our critical intent?

We brainstormed and free-connected ideas and thoughts and words and eventually our conversation revolved around two key themes: Connection and Belonging. The foundational belief of CI is that we all want to feel connected to something bigger than ourselves. We all want to experience and feel safe in a place of belonging.

The thing that makes us kick up our heels and want to dance is our shared desire to inspire people to create deep and meaningful connections through our sense of belonging and the stories we tell.

We have designed our first workshop -- The Art of Story. Creating compelling stories that move people to action. Our brochure is designed, I just have to do a few tweaks and send it off to the printer and I am working on the website for Critical Intent Consulting. We've got prospects identified whom we will be approaching, and we've got one workshop under our belt -- and good testimonials from that workshop.

I'm sticking my neck out and progress is being made.

And in the process I am saying, I trust in the Universe to be with me, to work for me, to want me to succeed. It is in the best interests of the universe that I live my dreams, that I create more of what makes this a better world, that I participate joyfully in the evolutionary process that is our world, continually evolving, continually growing in the betterment of the world.

I've stuck my neck out and the view out here is great!

Broken. In time. (a poem)

2012-01-18T06:28:00.000-07:00

Relationships develop in ups and downs and ins and outs of two people trying to find their ground, their rhythm, their sense of who they are apart and together.

I struggle some days to find that place of equanimity. That place where the world is spinning in space and I am balancing gracefully upon its surface, my relationships in balance with my need for solitude and my desire for togetherness.

And when I do, find that place, it is often fleeting, ephemeral, whipped away by winds of change that happen along without the grace to even ask if they can blow in and push me over, down, under, or, as is sometimes the case, lift me up and deposit me somewhere I never ever expected.

Sometimes, to balance me in a sea of change, the muse visits with words of comfort, insight, inspiration. Sometimes, she drifts through gently pushing words before her, crafting images and lines of verse that only she can see where they end. My task is to follow the warp and weft of her design as I come to rest in the peacefulness of knowing, all is well in my world when I am well into being me.

And in her passing through, I am gifted with the words that comfort me....

Broken. In time.

Broken
my heart beats
slowly
in time
the steady measures
of life flying by.

Broken
the memory of flight
lifts me up
above the pain
held silently,
in time passing
me by.

Broken
wings mend
in time passing by
where I stand
still
searching for that place
where grace finds me
in forgiveness
and love
heals my heart
in time.

Ruminations on a cold January morning

2012-01-17T05:38:00.001-07:00

It is cold. Very cold, outside.

I am awake earlier than normal. I sit at my window looking out at the cold and am grateful for the warmth inside. I sit at my desk wrapped up in a sweater, a blanket around my legs to keep myself warm. I'm trying to keep the heat down -- the city has been experiencing skyrocketing power usage with records being broken daily, but the furnace is working overtime just to keep the temperature a couple of degrees below normal. Every degree makes a difference so I keep my thermostat lowered slightly.

Baby it's cold outside.

Which won't stop the birds in my backyard from flocking around the feeder, scrambling for food when the sun gets up.

It is 5am and a man just walked past my window, walking with his dog. Did I mention it is cold outside? There is something sad about his figure. Head hidden beneath a fur-trimmed hood, shoulders hunched, dog walking many steps behind, long leash extended. The man plods when he walks. Each foot firmly planted one in front of the other. Heavy steps. Heavy body. Aged. I wonder if he lives on my street. I wonder if he lives alone. If his wife has died and the dog his only company. I wonder if he walks at 5 am because, like me, he has awoken early and cannot get back to sleep and while I have a computer to come and visit, he has no other way to get a different view on life than to plod along the street with his dog.

Baby it's cold outside.

And I realize, I don't know my neighbours. What if something goes wrong? C.C. is away. I am alone in the house with just Ellie, the wonder pooch, Marley, the Great Cat and Harry, Sally and Sue, the fish. Other than the wonderful companionship they provide, what help would they be in an emergency?

I've never thought about this before. Never considered the 'what if's' of what could happen if..., except last night I discovered my kitchen sink is plugged. Draino hasn't cleared it. I'll have to call a plumber. And I wonder if the pipes are frozen. Should I put a heater under the sink to warm them up? I check downstairs. No water leaking out anywhere.

And I wonder if the pipes are frozen.

Baby it's cold outside.

And it snowed again last night. I'll have to shovel the walk this morning. Fill the birdfeeder. A garbage truck goes rumbling by and I remember today is pickup day. I must put the garbage and recycling out. One good thing about the cold. The grass doesn't grow and won't need cutting until spring, weeds won't need pulling and the garden won't need pruning.

The paper just arrived. The delivery man pulls up in his jeep, leaves the engine running. Jumps out and heads to my door, his arms filled with newspapers. He is bundled up, but getting in and out of a vehicle must be uncomfortable. After our house he heads next door. There are three more papers in his arms to deliver.

And I wonder who my neighbours are. Must remedy my lack of awareness.

I wonder if after paper delivery the man in the jeep goes home, helps his wife get the kids ready for school and then they both head off to their fulltime day jobs. I wonder how many children he has. Did he immigrate here from somewhere else? Is he a doctor in his homeland? Or perhaps, he's a writer and delivering the paper is how he supports his craft. He drives away and his story leaves with him. Maybe tomorrow...

Baby it's cold outside.

When I was a young girl of five or six, we lived in Calgary for a couple of years. My brother had a paper route and when it was really, really cold, I did the deliveries. I didn't mind the cold. I'd load the papers in my sled and trudge on down the road. I remember the lady in a blue house with a long drive and lots of trees in her yard. She used to give me hot cocoa. Back then, kids had paper routes because the paper wasn't delivered until end of day after school was out and before husbands came home.

I remember my father coming home from work, pouring a scotch and sitting in his big easy chair to read the paper while mom made dinner in the kitchen and we four kids tried to not fight while doing our homework. That's what fathers and mothers and kids did back then.

Times change. News is immediate and newspapers scramble to be ahead of the times, getting their paper copies to doors of households where mothers and fathers rise early to get children off to school before going off to their own work. Little time for sitting with a scotch to read the paper after work. Little need. The news has already been told by then. It's already happened.

Have you heard the news? Baby, it's still cold outside.

But in case you haven't heard the news. It's -27C -- that's -17 south of the border. And that doesn't include the windchill.

I did it!

2012-01-16T10:42:00.002-07:00

I drove C.C. to the airport this morning. Normally, during rushhour, the drive takes maximum 30 minutes. Today. 1 hour.

Coming home was no better. Tires crunching on frozen snow covered pavement, I moved towards home, inch by inch, row by row, planting seeds of harmony on my route as I held my frustration at the traffic and congestion in thoughts of "Bless them. Forgive me."

An arctic chill has descended upon the city. The world is white and crisp and frozen. Ice crystals dance in the light, a surreal pattern of notes suspended in air that moves thickly, sliding icily around objects, slicing nostrils as it slips inside huddled bodies brave enough to step outside into its biting maw.

And now I am home again. Warm and snug. Inside looking out. Ellie, ever hopeful for a walk brought her leash to me when I came in the door. I had to promise a walk later when it warms up from -27C to -23C. I'm hoping she won't like it any more than me so that it can be a short walk today, but Ellie is persistent so it could be she doesn't let me cop out too quickly.

Then again, I'm persistent too.

Last week, my persistence paid off.

I have been attempting to build my own website. I am not a website developer. I am not particularly techno-gifted. So, building a website was a huge undertaking. Just the thought of diving into code and HTML and all sorts of things techy frightened me. Not to mention the thought of committing dollars to a web-hosting company whom I don't even know. I mean, seriously. You want me to give you money to host my cyber-identity and we haven't even met?

But I did it. I researched and stalled and thought some more about it and then I did it. I jumped in with both feet, committed to godaddy.com, bought my very own online identity (www.louisegallagher.ca) and began the process of building my site.

I like learning. I like challenges. And believe me, this gave me lots of opportunity to experience both.

Decisions I'd never dreamed of had to be made. Platforms. Templates. FTPs. ABCs and every other letter of the alphabet came streaming towards me as I navigated techno jargon that would drive even a saint to curse.

And now, many days after my first tentative toe in the waters of website building, my site is live. It works and while it's not yet finished, it is a good foundation upon which to build.

Please do visit. All feedback is welcome and appreciated. I haven't got my portfolio online yet. That's my next big step, but the framework is there. and I am pleased. I did it. With the help of some really nice folks at the helpdesk at godaddy, I figured out how to upload Wordpress, how to download a template and how to make it all come alive. Who knew I could actually download Wordpress twice and not even know it? Who knew using my user ID from one download with the password from the other would send my system into a spin? Who knew?

Not me.

And yet, inspite of myself, I now know I can do it. I did do it. Louise Gallagher is live!

Sunday thoughts to ponder

2012-01-15T07:39:00.002-07:00

Andrew Cohen is a spiritual teacher, culturalvisionary, and founder of EnlightenNext and its award-winning publicationEnlightenNext magazine.

He writes a blog and on Jan 3 wrote a blog titled, In All Your Imperfection. I found it enlightening and thought-provoking.

Have a blessed Sunday!

In All Your Imperfection

It's important to remember that your ego—your separate personal self-sense and all its culturally conditioned tendencies—is just not awake to the urgent need for your participation in the evolutionary process. That's why your ego is convinced that it has all the time in the world to be eternally busy with its own self-improvement. It says, "Well, I'm not ready because I'm not perfect yet." But that's just the ego's perennial excuse to avoid the overwhelming urgency of the evolutionary context of being alive. Did you ever meet anybody who was actually perfect? I don't think perfection exists within manifestation. If you want to experience perfection—inherent perfection; unborn, uncreated perfection—meditate.As you gain the capacity to transcend a conditioned relationship to thought, memory, and time, you will eventually awaken to the timeless, formless, infinite ground of your own being and you'll experience that which is perfect. But when we reenter the manifest realm of time, space, and form, we leave perfection behind, in order to create ourselves anew through the evolutionary process. And perfection will never be reached here.

So when the ego tells you that because you are not perfect, you are not ready yet, it traps you in a spiritually and evolutionarily self-defeating cycle. A big part of awakening to spiritual maturity is realizing that, even in all your imperfection, you are ready to take responsibility. While you realize that perfection is unattainable, you aspire for it, always reaching higher and further. You are ready to be responsible for creating the future, right now, even though your ego may kick and scream all the way. And your liberation, your enlightenment, in every moment, depends upon that. It's not easy. You have to be a warrior, you have to be an exemplar, even though you know that you're not perfect. So you have to deal with the reality of your human frailty, with the inherent contradictions in your character, and still be bold and brave enough to be willing to take responsibility for all of this. If you do, then the power of spirit will enter into your heart, your body, and your mind and you will begin to express That, in spite of all your imperfection. And then you, as a human being, don't have to be perfect, because Spirit already is.

—Andrew Cohen

Not a mistake

2012-01-13T09:02:00.001-07:00

Forgive and remember differently. Forgive and be transformed.

Father Kevin, Mt. St. Francis Retreat Centre, January 12, 2012

The invitation came over dinner. "I'm going out to Mount St Francis for a women's twilight retreat," my friend Rosemarie said. "Would you like to come."

I was excited. I've known about the retreat centre run by Franciscan monks for many years, had always wanted to go, never gotten there.

Last night I did. And though it was dark when we pulled in through the gates of the centre, the silence and peace of its rural setting embraced me as I stepped out of the car. And the welcome inside was equally as comforting.

But it was the twilight retreat process that left me feeling peaceful and enlivened. Joyful and renewed.

Father Kevin, the speaker, was funny and engaging. He gave a delightful and inspiring 45 minute talk and then we moved into a half hour of meditative silence followed by a reading of Ecclesiastes 3:1, which were the words of the opening song he'd used to establish the 'Transition' theme of the evening, (the Byrds singing "Turn. Turn. Turn.") A brief prayer, a song (Susan Boyle singing the Prayer of St. Francis), a statement of gratitude and the evening was over.

But not really. Over. It kept resonating as Rosemarie and I drove back towards the city. It kept vibrating along my heart chords as I meditated before bed and it is still creating harmony in my world this morning.

Transitions are frightening and necessary, Father Kevin told us. We must look to nature for inspiration. And he spoke of how the beauty of fall is followed by the death of every leaf. It isn't about being perfect, he said, it's about the willingness to acknowledge our human imperfections, make amends and forgive so that we can transform our hearts and lives.

It was the forgiveness part that was surprising. How he wove it into transitions and made it relevant and integral to the theme. To let go, to allow change to happen, to embrace its presence, I must forgive what isn't, what was, what wasn't, in my life that hurt me, caused me angst, caused me pain.

And in that forgiveness is the gift of more. More peace. More gratitude. More possibility. More grace.

It isn't that forgiveness negates justice or the need for justice. It is that forgiveness sets the forgiver free -- and possibly the forgiven too. It is that forgiveness opens our hearts to possibility. Renewal. Hope. Peace. Love and Joy.

Forgiveness makes me whole. Because no matter what justice I deem necessary, or the law determines right, there is and always will be room for Divine mercy.

Mercy is the right of the Divine, Father Kevin said. and forgiveness the deepest mystery of all.

A mystery is not something that cannot be solved or to be frightened of. Mystery is something I do not understand enough. And in the quest to understand the mystery of forgiveness, I am strengthened in my quest for inner freedom.

It was an evening of wonderful company, insight and peace. It was an evening that continues to resonate as I explore what it means to be human on this journey of my lifetime.

A human being who makes mistakes but is never a mistake.

If it's food, eat it.

2012-01-12T06:23:00.003-07:00

I adopted three fish yesterday. Harry. Sally and Sue.

When they arrived they didn't have names. "I've never named my fish," said Dave the friend who gave me the fish. He is moving away and cannot take them with him.

I'm happy they're here sitting atop a low bookcase in my office, right beside my desk.

Ellie, the wonder pooch, is happier.

I went off to meditation last night and Ellie decided to help herself to fish food. She tried to eat the entire container but managed only to consume its contents.

Who knew a container of fish food flakes could be so enticing to a hound. Oh right, she's a scavenger, a glutton, a pig.

Not really. But she sure does like her food and she sure can't resist temptation.

When I arrived home after my meditation group and went to feed the fish as Dave had instructed me to do, I couldn't find the container of fish food where I knew I had put it in the corner, on the floor beside the tank. The cleaning agent was there. The extra dish and paraphernalia were there. But no fish food.

I wondered if I was mistaken. Had I put it in the cupboard? Had I put it somewhere else.

It was Ellie's behaviour that tipped me off. She wouldn't come into the office with me. She hung about the door, poking just her nose into the room.

"What did you do?" I asked her. "What did you do?"

She hung her head, slunk into the room and headed straight to her bed in the far corner of my office, the furthest point away from where I stood watching her accusingly.

"You didn't..." And I headed into our bedroom to check her bed which lies at the foot of ours. It's where she tends to take all the food treasures she manages to steal.

Sure enough. There it was. One empty plastic fish food container with puncture marks across its skin. One torn up label from the container. Was she trying to hide the evidence?

Ellie doesn't seem to be the worse for wear. Fish food agrees with her. Though her breath is kind of stinky.

Harry, Sally and Sue however will be scavenging along the bottom of the tank until I get to the pet store this morning to replace their food. There were enough dregs in the bottom of the tub to sprinkle them onto the water last night. And maybe, just enough to appease them until the store opens.

And I am the wiser for the adventure. When bringing new friends into the house, ensure special diets are kept safe from those who believe if it's food, eat it. (and pretend you didn't do it!)

Pushed, I push back

2012-01-11T09:07:00.000-07:00

Perhaps it is inevitable. That I awaken, write my 'making a difference' post and wonder... what shall I write here? what more have I to give?

And then, my soul laughs, a deep bellyful laugh. What more to give? Everything! And it leaps up and down and rolls on the ground and repeats itself. Everything!

I wrote in my journal last night: I admit it. I am a codependent. I enable the people who do not nice things in my life to do the not nice things in my life they do. I decide right now to stop this. It hurts. Me and them.

Yup. That's me. The enabler.

Now, don't get me wrong. Enabling has it's good side. But when it gets into the realm of being harmful to my emotional, spiritual well-being, it hurts. Big time. And I need to stop it because, only I can stop it.

I wrote the enabling comment in a journal I last wrote in five years ago (I've got lots and lots of journals that I write in - and each has a different 'meaning'/purpose). In this journal which is sort of a, hmmm, oh look there's a magpie/shiny object kind of journal that I happened upon when I first used it and happened upon again when I cleaned up my office the other day, the last thing I wrote in it was on February 7, 2006. And what I wrote was: It takes two people to be in an abusive relationship. It only takes one to end it.

That was 2 months before my book, The Dandelion Spirit, was published. The pages before that one statement are filled with my doodlings for the book. With ideas and thoughts cluttered together in messy and tidy pages. With scribbles and notes and wonderings about what am I writing about. What am I doing?

And the book was published and helped many people and I moved on and now, I'm writing a new book and I am back to scirbblings and wonderings and notes and messy and tidy pages all nudging up against eachother, overflowing into words screaming to get out and other's resisting their birth, pushing back against the creative impulse to be seen and heard and drawn out into view.

This creating is messy busy. It pushes me into my own messy thinking. Into my angst and fears and insecurities and when I am pushed up against the angst of feeling like I'm enabling bad behaviour in my life, it is my responsibility to push back against the angst to get drawn into the muck of worrying about what other's are do. I am not accountable/responsible for what other's do. I am 100% accountable for what I am doing, what I allow in my life, what I create in my presence.

So... let it be known. As of today. As of this very moment right now, I have resigned my position as a codependent. This is my manifesto. My declaration of independence.

You're on your own everyone. You are 100% accountable for your life. And I am 100% accountable for mine.

So... can we agree that we are all magnificent beings of wonder and joy? Miracles of life inspired by the Divine to create a world of peace, love, harmony and joy?

Can we agree, this is our one and only life. Let's live it up in the rapture of now.

I am dancing

2012-01-10T08:25:00.002-07:00

I went dancing last night. Let my body move as it desired. Let myself be free of right steps/wrong moves and expectations. I simply moved. In the opening music my body whispered to me, 'be gentle', and I was. Gentle with it. And my body responded and began to move freely. For two hours as the music stirred my soul and my spirit took wings I was immersed in the wonder of being free to express myself through dance. It was heavenly.

Years ago, (1996ish) I took a four day workshop on Gabrielle Roth's five wave movement work. For years afterwards, whenever possible, I actively engaged in The 5 Waves by joining in dance groups whenever I could.

And then, I started to work at the shelter and found myself mired in the pain of so many lives in turmoil, of so much drama and trauma. For some reason, I let go of movement. I let go of dancing and convinced myself -- I didn't have time. I was too busy. The shelter needed me more.

And I became stuck in the pain and lost sight of the promise of all that is possible in our world.

It is the challenge of working at a place like a homeless shelter. When so many lives filled with pain come together in one place, there is little room to breathe freely. I think one of the things that happened inside me was I felt that to move freely would take me away from that place, and I didn't want to do that. I loved my work. I loved being there. The people. The possibilities for change. The idea of creating it. I loved the feeling of making a difference everyday.

And so, I stopped dancing. Except for when my daughters and I went to the Choices Saturday night dance during seminar. Then. I danced. We danced. Moved. Spun and twirled and bent forward and backwards and under and around. We danced and I felt alive and free and oh so powerful.

I stopped dancing with my group though because somewhere within me was the belief/fear that to dance would open me up to the world beyond the shelter. And I wasn't ready, yet, for that to happen. I found my home at the shelter. I didn't want to leave it.

And now I have, left, and now I'm finding myself beyond the pain and sorrow and trauma of a homeless shelter. I still believe I can make a difference in that world. I still believe it's important work. I just know that being immersed in the daily workings of a shelter is an invitation to shut down the bigger perspective of the world beyond its doors. I believe there's a time limit on how long one should stay at a shelter -- whether client or staff.. And if one does stay in the shelter/work, it is imperative that one keep moving, keep doing things, everyday, to create emotional, spiritual and physical well-being -- and that's what I had quit doing to a degree. I opted for the myopic view that I could take care of others without first taking care of me.

It's easy to become isolated and insulated in a shelter. It's easy to lose contact with the promise beyond its doors.

And now, moving again, I know how important it is that I move the pain out and connect back to the promise of the more that awaits when I free myself from the belief -- this is all I can do.

There's so much I more I can do when I set myself free to move.

I am dancing again.

I am happy!

Namaste

Soft touches and other changes

2012-01-09T07:27:00.001-07:00

If you can learn from hard knocks, you can also learnfrom soft touches. Carolyn Kenmore

I wrote a few weeks ago about my plants. How I've become 'the plant lady', that soft touch you send your lost and lonely, no longer part of your life greenery to in the hopes she'll give them a home.

And I do. Give plants a home, though C.C. tells me I'm at my limit. We've got enough greenery and not enough windows to give them light, he says. But I think I may have remedied that situation as my youngest daughter's boyfriend likes plants... so maybe I can share my greenery with him. Yeah Ryan!

Recently, while helping a friend who is moving to another city, he asked if I'd be willing to take on his plants. Give them a nice home, he asked.

Of course, I replied. And we packed them into three boxes, put them in the back of my car and I brought them home.

Which meant, I had to find more space, reorganize and shuffle the plants who'd already made their home in our home theirs.

In the process, I moved a begonia that I'd rescued from the home of a woman who had committed suicide two years ago (see The Plant Lady). Speaking gently to it as I carried it from the kitchen window onto the desk in our bedroom I carefully placed it between two flowering African Violets and a lipstick plant that is just beginning to blossom. She looked happy and her lack of flowers was unnoticeable amidst the pink and purple and red around her.

It only took a day for her to show her appreciation. For two years I have bemoaned the fact that she would not bloom. And there, the very next day, sitting in her new window, a tiny yellow blush of a flower began to appear. And it's still blossoming.

Sometimes, all it takes for change to happen is a change of scenery.

Though, as my friend Dave said who gave me the new plants. Maybe she was just lonely. Maybe she's just happy to have friends.

I know I am. Happy to have friends. Friends don't deliver hard knocks. They always provide soft touches. Friends are the real plants of my world and I thank my friends for being here, for turning up, for being part of my journey.

You have all made a difference in my world -- which leads me to my conundrum. Writing two blogs a day is a lot (I think-- though it hasn't been that challenging yet). So, I'm thinking of changes. Of how I can still keep this blog pertinent and fresh while focusing on A Year of Making a Difference.

There are changes afoot. I just don't know what they are. And if you have ideas, suggestions, comments, I'm open to hearing them. I am looking for creative solutions on how to keep Recover Your Joy alive -- while giving energy to A Year of Making a Difference.

Thanks everyone!

White Horse. Black Stallion (a poem)

2012-01-08T07:30:00.001-07:00

I was driving along, listening to an interview on Q on CBC Radio radio. The band being interviewed was called, White Horse. I smiled when host Jian Gomeshi asked, "What if you'd been from Yellowknife?". Seriously... Jian Gomeshi rocks.

And then, a image galloped through my mind, "White Horse. Black Stallion."

I didn't know where it was leading but I had to drive so I let it lead itself into the quiet until I got home and a poem wrote itself out. I love how ideas collide and mesh and evolve and appear -- an interview on CBC Radio and the fact that when I wrote this, it was the Epiphany, January 6. The fact I was thinking about my daughters and how much they've taught me and how grateful I am and how life is yin and yang, light and dark, beauty in the duality of our existence.

White Horse. Black Stallion
(a poem for my daughters)

White horse/black stallion

you came screaming

from the womb

of my maternal impulse

to create

wonder

Full of life

arms flailing

lungs gasping

you arrived

heralding the epiphany

of my being

becoming

your ride

into this world.

I nurtured you

you taught me

and I am forever

changed

forever

grateful

Love rode in

and my heart screamed

in pure delight

galloping like a

white horse/black stallion

celebrating the duality

of life

expressing itself

through our shared

experience

in Love.

I invite you to listen to it here:

20120106 123739 by Louiseg88

Jeff Harris is a hero

2012-01-06T08:35:00.000-07:00

Jeff Harris was not going to be the topic of my blog today. Nope. The original blog was going to be about how helping a friend made me move a plant because in helping him move he bequeathed me with new plants and in finding a place for his plants amidst my plants I had to move a plant and in moving that plant... a flower bloomed.

But that was the original topic of this blog.

And then, I saw a tweet from the Huffington Post and watched the video it directed me to and I was so taken and moved and stirred and inspired by what I saw, I realized...

I have to share this in the hopes that you too will watch it and be taken and moved and stirred and inspired by what you see.

I'm not going to use any words to describe Jeff Harris and his project to take a photo of himself everyday for 13 years and counting. I'm going to let him speak for himself. He does it well. He does it spectacularly. He is a hero.

Now that wasn't so hard!

2012-01-05T08:23:00.002-07:00

So... did you notice? There's a new look and feel to my blog today (yes, I did hear those of you who said the new/old format was tough to read).

What's exciting about this format for me is -- I created it. I took the photo. I created the background and using a blogger template as the foundation, I created the screen format.

I am proud of me! And, to make it even sweeter, I built the badge at the side bar that will take you to my new blog, A Year of Making a Difference. And, at A Year, I created a badge that will link back here.

Not bad for a day's work.

And what's really cool is, before yesterday, I didn't know how to do that!

Now I do.

I'd always been afraid of attempting it. It seemed so 'difficult'. That's for techies, I told myself before running off to find someone else to do it for me.

Which is the funny thing about avoiding doing something -- I told myself all sorts of stories about why I couldn't do it without ever even attempting to do it. And then, when I did it, I discovered it's not really all that difficult. It just takes time and practice and a whole bunch of patience.

And I wonder where the notion I should know how to do it before I do it comes from. Because seriously, the thought -- it's hard -- must come from a place of believing I know what it takes. And truth is, I don't. Case in point -- I didn't' know what it took to create a new blog look, and I didn't know what it took to create a blog badge -- until I tried to do it. And then, I learned I could do it.

Which makes me wonder -- I wonder how many things there are in this world I don't attempt because I tell myself, before I ever even attempt them, that's too hard. Or, I can't do it. Or, I don't know how.

I wonder how many opportunities to learn something new I've turned down because I've judged my capacity to learn before I even attempt to learn it.

I'm betting.... many.

Note to self. Stay open to next experiences. Stay open to trying things I've never tried before. Just because my head tells me I can't do it, or it's too hard, doesn't make it true.

Truth is, I have an infinite capacity to learn new things. We all do.

Taking down Christmas

2012-01-04T08:35:00.001-07:00

Christmas came down yesterday. The baubles and bows, boughs and glitter came off the tree. Doorframes were stripped and tabletops decluttered as Christmas was once again wrapped up in tissue and nestled in boxes and bags for a long winter's nap.

It will wait for next Christmas to appear on the horizon like Ellie, my golden retriever, waiting by the door for me to come home. She knows I'm coming home, she just doesn't know when. And morning 'til dark feels like a lifetime in dog years. Just like I'm sure January to December feels like a decade to the little drummer boy and tin soldier nestled in their beds all year.

As a child, I was the proverbial, 'are we there yet' questionner. I didn't like surprises and always wanted to know, what's next, is it ready, are we there, why is it taking so long.

I am reminded of my childhood impatience as I take down Christmas. It is such an opposite experience to putting up Christmas. Putting Christmas up, I savour every ornament. Tell stories about where we bought this one, who gave us that one, to anyone who will listen. It takes time to put up Christmas. It takes loving care and attention. It takes the entire family.

Taking it down.... not so much.

Sure, I do tenderly place each bauble and ball into tissue before placing it carefully in a box. I don't want any broken glass come next Christmas.

But loving care?

The tree is brittle. It's needles fall everywhere. I'm constantly ouching and groaning as I search the branches for hidden treasures.

And as to family involvement?

Well.... let's just say it's a lonely job taking down Christmas. I didn't know grown children could still disappear like ghosts of Scrooges Christmases past when the words 'why don't you help me take down Christmas' are spoken.

Bah humbug!

They can help put it up. Why can't they help take it down?

And maybe that's the thing about taking down Christmas. When putting it up, I make a fuss about setting the atmosphere. There's anticipation in the air, there's laughter and good treats and music playing and the house is aglow in the excitement of Christmas coming to visit one more time.

I don't do any of that in the take down mode. It's a job. Let's get it done. Many hands are better than two. Pitch in why don't you?

I think my Christmas spirit gets taken down in the holidays and is all worn out by now.

I think maybe taking Christmas down is a job best done alone, anyway. That way, nobody else has to share in my ill humour. My 'why do I always have to do it alone?' whining.

Maybe, taking down Christmas is my opportunity to get a little more year-round mirth spirited away in my heart.

Maybe... it's not the taking down Christmas that's the problem. Maybe... it's me!

Oh well. There's always next Christmas to be cherry about pine needles all over the floor and dust bunnies tucked away behind baskets of pinecones and a missing box that just won't appear to place the snowdome into.

Yes. That's it. There's always next Christmas!

Risk more. Settle less.

2012-01-03T09:45:00.004-07:00

If I had my life to live over... I'd dare to make moremistakes next time. Nadine Stair

Nadine Stair's quote made me smile and think this morning. I wondered -- is it the making mistakes that's important, or is it the being willing to risk 'a mistake' that counts?

On New Year's Day, my sister Anne and I decided to participate in the annual Polar Bear Swim on Gabriola Island. It was fun. It was silly, and crazy and... did I mention, cold!

A group of about 25 'swimmer's' gathered at Drumbeg Bay to take a dip in the chilly water's off Gabriola Island. Along with the swimmers there were double that number of spectators -- people who figured what we were doing was a big mistake, but hey, why not watch people be crazy?

Truth is, diving into the freezing January waters of the ocean was not a mistake. It was great.

Definitely set the tone for the year to come where I am determined to -- Risk more. Settle less.

And, it was fun!

I definitely felt like I'd taken a step out of the ordinary. Made a statement to the universe that said -- okay world. I'm here, willing, ready and able to live this one wild and precious life on the edge of extraordinary! Willing, ready and able to dive into the waters of life and splash around in whatever adventure you present. I am PRESENT!

C.C. and I had an awesome visit with my daughter and my sister and her husband. We laughed and teased and told stories and met some fabulous new people. Alexis, my eldest daughter's boyfriend's parents divorced many years ago and are both remarried. We spent time with both families and had a wonderful time getting to know these people who promise to be connected to our lives for years to come.

We wandered the streets of Vancouver. Sat by the water in little coffee shops and watched people walk by. We took the ferry to Gabriola Island, fell back into Island speed and savoured every moment of the beauty of a very special place.

And along the way, we experienced life in all its wonder.

Wonder that expressed itself in the joy of watch a pod of 20+ dolphins leaping and cavorting in the water keeping pace with the ferry as we crossed the Strait.

Like witnessing the sun breaking through the clouds to shower the world with light.

Like watching a little boy running around the ferry terminal, never stopping, never tiring of exploring every nook and cranny of the place.

Like seeing the wild turkeys lumber down the road in search of breakfast (which they know is in the feeder on the deck of my sister's house).

Like little moments and big events that sparkled and shone in the light of being alive and knowing -- this is my one life to live, it's up to me to give it everything I've got. to make it my best.

So no. I am not worried about mistakes. There are none. There are simply experiences that shed light, or cast darkness. And to find the darkness, no matter the circumstances, all I have to do is breathe deeply into the moment and trust in the light to appear.

If I had my life to live over... I'd dare to risk more. Settle less.

Pleasantly Disturbed Monday!

2012-01-02T08:30:00.001-07:00

C.C., my sister and I are back to Vancouver today. Lee, Anne's husband is staying on the island to do some chores around the house and will return tomorrow with their two cats -- ferries are less busy on weekdays, he said. Which makes it easier on the kitties.

It has been a delightful sojourn here on Gabriola. An island of 5,000 people, it's laid back at the best of times. Over the New Year's weekend -- it almost goes into reverse. :)

And it is beautiful.

Yesterday, while Anne, Lee and C.C. explored Island places (C.C. has never been on Gabriola) I took the 1 o'clock ferry over to Nanaimo to visit a friend who has been in attendance at a rehab centre since early November.

I am in awe of this friend. For the over 25 years I've known her, alcohol has been a dragon she's never willingly faced. And then, a series of circumstances caused her to pay attention -- and boy, has she paid attention.

"I have to take care of me," she told me. "I have to quit avoiding life and get into living it on my terms without fearing what others think."

We sat in the coffee shop at the centre yesterday and visited and laughed and teased each other. She is doing great. and I was grateful to have the opportunity to spend some time with her. She's chosen to remain at the centre after completing their initial 9 week program, even though it meant missing Christmas with her family.

"It was a really hard decision," she said. "But, I want to be well. I want to live without my addiction controlling my life. And to do that, I have to be will ing to make hard decisions."

Hard decisions.

Addict and muggles, as those on the 'outside' are called at the rehab centre by my friend's favorite counsellor, are always faced with 'hard decisions'. And most of us will do anything to avoid making them at times. For an addict, using is the route out. For muggles -- we use other coping mechanisms to avoid, the hard.

Leaving the DI, the homeless shelter where I worked until the end of the year, was a hard decision -- one I avoided making for almost a year. Not making the decision, putting it off, rationalizing why I stayed even when I knew the environment was becoming toxic to my health, was easier than saying, "I'm done. I'm leaving. I have to go."

And so I stayed, amidst growing dissatisfaction on my part for what was going on.

I rationalized my staying with reminders of how much I loved what I did, how much I loved the people, how important work was to me. And in my rationalization I avoided taking responsibility for my choice to stay, for holding onto something that was not healthy for me anymore.

It's hard to make hard decisions, yet, when we do... life opens up and opportunities appear and creativity abounds.

From being afraid of making the decision, to living in the wonder of life after the homeless shelter, I am in awe of how choosing to stay was what was holding me back from experiencing the joy of life 'on the other side'.

Like my friend yesterday, the decision to go to rehab was harder to make than being there. Now that she's there, her world is opening up with wonder. Her eyes are growing bigger with all the opportunities that are appearing on her path. Even when hard decisions appear on the path, she knows she can work through them when she stays true to her path and doesn't avoid 'doing the hard.'

I had an amazing day yesterday with a courageous and beautiful woman.

I am grateful for life out in the wide wide world beyond the shelter.

And maybe, I'll just call this post in honor of my friend Glynn at Faith. Fiction. Friends., (http://faithfictionfriends.blogspot.com) Pleasantly Disturbed Monday! :)

PS -- and an opportunty to make a difference presented itself quite naturally on the road to the ferry yesterday.

I wrote about it over at -- http://ayearofmakingadifference.wordpress.com

Happy New Year!

2012-01-01T10:05:00.001-07:00

A Bew Tear, A new day dawning.Happy New Year everyone. May your year be filled with wonder. May you know peace. May your heart be embraced in Love. and may this year give rise to all your dreams coming true.Thank you for being part of my journey.Thank you for sharing your light so generously.Thank you for all you do to make a difference in my world.This morning, I have posted on my new blog: A Year of Making a Diffeence Http://ayearofmakingadifference.wordpress.comI shall continue to post here everyday, and there too as A Year of Making a Difference is meant to be short and sweet everyday.LOL -- a new year's resolution for me -- to write short and sweet :)I hope you join me in celebrating our capacity to consciously make a difference in the world. I hope you too share your ideas and what you've done to make a difference that day.Have a fabulous New Year's Day.

Intent on my Relationships

2011-12-31T08:33:00.001-07:00

I like New Year's and I like the idea of New Year's resolutions. Not the making of them. No. The making of resolutions can be scary. I mean -- seriously -- how many resolutions have I made and not kept? But I do like the 'idea' of resolutions -- like goals, they give me something to aspire to, something to work towards, to attain, to want to do to create more of what I want in my life -- challenge is, the breaking of making resolutions leaves me feelings dispirited. And so, I avoid making resolutions with the excuse -- silly things. If I'm going to break them. Why make them?

Because it's not about the resolutions I make. It's about the process I go through to create them.

It's in the self-assessment that I grow, that I find my truth, that I see where my weaknesses/soft spots/excuses have created opportunities for me to NOT live my best life yet. It's in the creating of resolutions I find myself with room to grow.

When I shift my perspective to focusing on the process of creating resolutions, I let go of the outcome and move into a healthier state of being.

One of the resolutions I've made this year comes out of spending the day with my eldest daughter yesterday.

In May of this year, she moved to Vancouver. In the process, I haven't given much thought to how I am going to live with my daughter living so far away (800 miles) I've basically just treated the distance between us as a non-issue. And yet, it is a factor in our relationship moving forward as she has no intent of ever moving back to Calgary -- and at this point in time, I'm not moving to the coast.

How am I going to keep our communication open? How do I keep the intimacy in our relationship strong so that we continue to enjoy the kind of relationship we've had? One where sharing our joys and our sorrows is central to our communication. One where I am focused on deepening our interactions -- not just letting them slide into the peripheral of surface talk that happens when I engage from my place of, I'm busy right now honey, let's chat later.

When communicating over a telephone, or SKYPE, or email, or text, 'later' can be dangerous as it's not as easy to just cuddle up and chat because you're both in the same place at the same time, or you've got ten minutes to connect, or a couple of hours to chat over a shared meal.

It's hard to be intimate when your mode of communication precludes connecting on a real and physical plane.

Unless I'm intentional in my communication, that is. Then it doesn't matter what the plane we're on, what matter is what I'm communicating, and most importantly, how engaged I am in our communication.

And that's the resolution I've made. To be 100% engaged in any communication I participate in.

With my eldest daughter that means being intentional in when we communicate AND when we communicate being focused only on our communication -- not being distracted by something I'm reading on my monitor, or doing the dishes while chatting, or whatever I do that takes me away from being 100% attentive on our conversation.

Which brings me to the core of my communication issue with my daughter -- I have not yet accepted she's moved away. That she is not physically present in the same city. Just a block or two away. Down the street, or a five minute drive away.

I still think she's at home and haven't consciously embraced this new reality.

Time to get real on the new circumstances of her life so that we can have real intimacy in our life -- as it is, not as I'm pretending it to be!

When seen through the filter of 'what do I want more of in my life?' I let go of my oppositional perspective that states, 'resolutions are stupid, nobody keeps them so why make them' to a place of balance. To that place where I know I am 100% responsible for my life. 100% accountable for what happens in it -- and from that place of accountability, I breathe deeply into my truth. If I want to have more intimacy and closeness in my relationships, I need to resolve to paying attention, being intentional and being present in my relationships, no matter where life has taken the one's I love.

Happy New Year everyone.

May your year be filled with living your best life yet. May you all enjoy a year of making a difference in everything that surrounds you, filling your world with Love.

A Year of Making a Difference (a new blog)

2011-12-30T08:18:00.001-07:00

Light shimmers on the water. Day breaks unseen, the eastern sky hidden behind the concrete wall of the city claiming its space here at the edge of the sea.

I am in Vancouver. Sitting in the living room of my dear friend BA's apartment. She has graciously given us her home while she is away. I sit looking out over English Bay, night slowly ligthening to day.

And... I don't feel like writing this morning. I feel like meditating. Sitting. Contemplating the view. I feel like dancing. Like singing. Like swirling about and spinning around and falling to the ground in a heap of laughter and giggles and little girl elation.

Ain't Life Gtand!

We had lunch yesterday at The Sylvia Hotel, just down the waterfront from where we are staying, it is where C.C. and I stayed, and had planned on staying if offers of accommodation hadn't appeared from my girlfriend and from my sister and her husband -- how sweet is that? Two options. One in North Van. One in the Eastend. And, because Alexis, my daughter, lives and works just across the Burrard Street Bridge in Kitsalano, we opted for downtown.

We took the Aquabus across the Bay yesterday. Walked along the seafront, the sky dove grey above us. The rain would pour down later, but for our afternoon walk, it was misty and soft and oh so deliciously moist. After a prairie winter, my parched skin welcomes the moisture, soaking it in like sunshine.

There was a woman on the SkyTrain as we took the Canada Line from the airport downtown. She got on, sat beside me and promptly asked, "You visiting or coming home?" I think it might have been the suitcases piled in front of me that gave away the fact we were coming from the airport. "Visiting," I replied.

She sighed. "To grey skies. I just got back from Mexico. Two weeks in the sunshine. I need to spend more time there." And in the course of three SkyTrain stops we shared laughter and tidbits of our lives. Her 23 year old son suprrised her with welcoming her home to a clean house. She wanted a Golden Retriever but he wanted a German Shepherd. People are scared of them, you know? One woman even picked up her little white dog and foisted it up into a tree until she'd walked past with "Stella", the German Shepherd. The woman held her dog in the tree, pointed at Stella and said -- there's a bad dog. Don't come out of the tree until it's safe.

People are funny.

We make judgments. Decisions. Leap to conclusions all based on past experiences, things we've read or heard or been told by others.

Stella would never hurt even a flea, the woman told me. She's such a wuss.

And then her stop came and she struggled to her feet. Had a knee replacement last year she told me. It works great in Mexico but here. Man, the dampness gets to it. good luck. Have a great visit. Happy New Year! and she was gone. A brief encounter flowing away like the SkyTrain moving on to its next stop. Lives intersected. Stories exchanged. Moving on.

I am into moving on mode these days. Into moving beyond my fears and trepidations of 'what's next' into embracing all that is and all that can be when I move into this place where possibility exists far beyond my wildest imaginings.

One of the 'openings' I've stepped into is a new project that I will begin on January 1. It stems from a comment I made as I was chatting with a co-worker on my last day at the homeless shelter -- where I used to work :). "One of the gifts from this place," I told him, "is the fact that everyday, I knew, I was making a difference."

And I realized, what would I do to make a difference when I wasn't working there. How could I consciously shcoose, and keep, making a difference at the forefront of my mind.

And so.... I decided to bring making a difference into my consciousness everyday by making 2012 "A Year of Making a Difference."

I've set up a blog (I also set up the domain but can't quite figure out how to make it happen properly so will have to wait until I'm back at my laptop to figure that out -- I'm using my iPad while I'm away). Nevertheless, my blog is called, "A Year of Making a Difference." Everyday, I will post about one thing I did that day to make a difference in the world -- it could be as simple as choosing not to drive a car for a day to lessen my ecological footprint, or it could be as simple as buying a coffee for a stranger. The 'differences' I make will be me consciously choosing to live on purpose, to choose to do one thing everyday for someone else that is not about 'getting in return' and completely about giving.

Please join me on the journey -- the blog will go live on January 1. I am excited about the possibilities.

the address is: http://ayearofmakingadifference.wordpress.com -- there's nothing there yet. I have to work on getting it properly set up -- but it will be ready to rock and roll on the first day of 2012!

Namaste.

In the light

2011-12-29T06:06:00.001-07:00

There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candleor the mirror that reflects it. Edith Wharton

Today, C.C. and I are off to Vancouver for a few days to visit my eldest daughter, a young woman who is the light, whose smile and grace reflect light at all times.

Because, in the end, no matter if we are the light or its reflection, light shares its brilliance freely -- and when we stand in the light, we become part of the light and in that becoming, light grows, darkness fades and shadows lessen.

I have a friend who is standing in the light. She is casting out the shadows, pushing back at the darkness.

It is hard work this moving from the shadow into the light. And it is important. For even in the shadows her light has cast a beautiful brilliance on the world that radiates everywhere. That illuminates so much for others to see the wonder and beauty all around. Even in the darkness, she is the light.

Yesterday, I left the shelter for the last time. I said my good-byes, hugged and cried and drove away knowing, next time I'm there will be under different circumstances.

It was touching and it was difficult. There are so many people in that place where darkness shadows people's dreams. So many people who have touched my heart and my life and shown me how to stand in the light. Peter held my hand and told me he will always be in love with me. (I didn't know he was :) and I am touched) Gary sobbed as I hugged him. "I'm angry at you," he said. "Now everything will change."

And it will. Change. And it will. Be different.

Just as I am different since first walking into that place in May of 2006.

I am different. I am the same. In that place have learned to claim my light and be it. To reflect it. To share it. To cherish it.

I walk in the light. I cannot take my light away from that place. I can only carry it with me, but what light I cast while there, will be carried in the corners and the folds of the hearts and people whom I touched and who touched me. We are all different for our encounters. We are all embraced by each other. We are all 'the same', human beings on the journey of our lifetimes.

Just as my friend is different and the same since someone came into her life and tried to dim her light, turn it off, shut it out.

But no one can do that -- no one has the power to turn off our light, unless they choose to end our lives. And while living in the darkness of someone else's abuse feels like a living death, it is and always will be, their abuse. Not ours.

I am praying for my friend today. Praying and wanting her to know -- she is a light that brightens up my world everyday. Her light is filtered through love and caring and kindness and generosity and just plain old smartness. Her light is a light that illuminates hearts and minds and souls.

And, I am praying for the souls who continue to sit at the shelter hoping for light to illuminate the path away from that place where the darkness called 'homeless' shadows their every step.

I am praying for the light.

And now, I must run. I've got to tidy up the house. Undo Christmas decorations. and did I mention do laundry and pack? Yup. I'm off to Vancouver and I've much to do before we take flight -- I was emotionally drained last night and chose to simply sit in the softness of the Christmas tree lights twinkling in the night as C.C. lay on the sofa reading and I relaxed in the reading corner, enjoying the quietness of the evening all around..

Namaste.

Maybe Next Time

2011-12-28T07:37:00.001-07:00

My last day at the shelter. I am moving on.

Yesterday, I went down to the second floor day area to help serve lunch (the day area is a large open space with room for seating of 500+ people -- meals are served here, people can sit and watch TV, read, chat, play cards, etc.). As I walked through the tables, placing a plate of food in front of each guest, I smiled and wished people "Bon Appetit".

News of my imminent departure is everywhere.

"Hey! How can you leave us?" one woman asked.

"Everyone needs to leave this place at some point," I told her. "I figure maybe if I leave it will make space for others to leave too."

"I'm out of here next month," she said.

"I'm so glad for you," I replied.

And she stood up and hugged me. "We're going to miss you," she said.

And I told her the truth. "I'm going to miss you too."

I am going to miss the people in this place. I am going to miss the feeling of being part of humankind awash in the angst and turmoil, joy and love of being human. Of being in a place where the struggle to find the way home goes beyond one's physical address, to pierce right into the heart of our human condition.

This is a place where everyone fearlessly gathers up the broken pieces to carefully fit each delicate shape into a tapestry of life that is taped, and woven, and stitched and stapled and glued together to complete a portrait of a life flowing from whole to broken to whole again and in and out and around all that makes us human.

There are a lot of broken hearts, beat up dreams and shattered illusions at the shelter. And always, there is Love.

I felt it yesterday as I served lunch with two families who make it their tradition to come in as a group and help out for a day every holiday season.

I felt it walking through the tables chatting and laughing with the people we serve.

I felt it standing at the back of the room with a staff member chatting about 'next moves'.

And I felt it when a young woman came running up to throw her arms around my neck and say, "I'm back."

"It's lovely to see you," I replied. "But I'm sorry to see you here."

"Yeah, me too," she responded. And then she laughed, shrugged her shoulders. "I did well this time. I lasted on the outside a whole year, all by myself. Maybe I'll do better next time."

She did do well. She told me once that all her troubles came because of men in her life. To last a year on 'the outside' alone is a remarkable feat for her.

And I am reminded -- Baby steps. Baby steps. Maybe next time she'll feel less like she is on the outside looking into to a world where everyone else knows where they belong. Maybe next time, she'll get lucky and find that place inside where she is always at home and never has to come back to this place to get in from the cold because outside is so much warmer and welcoming.

And until that time, I am grateful there is this place where those who feel 'the outside' is not a welcoming and sustainable environment have a place to come home to for as long as they need it.

And yes, I am going to miss this place.

And yes, I know I'll be okay, because working here I have learned there is no better place to be than in my heart. And if home is where the heart is, there's no place like home when I surrender and fall in Love.

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

In a world of this time it'll be different, where the belief of next time I'll be lucky, reigns like stardust scattered across a dark sky, there is always a next time, always a chance to do it different, make it happen, have luck on your side. In honour of all the 'next times' out there, I went in search of one of my all time favourite songs -- from the 1972 hit Cabaret, Liza Minnelli sings, "Maybe Next Time".

(and I laughed as I watched her sing. Most of my life I've been told -- you look just like Liza Minnelli. It's funny, I never really saw it and as she started to sing I thought, "maybe this time". Nope.... but, there's always next time.)

One world. One humankind. One word.

2011-12-27T07:10:00.002-07:00

The New Year is approaching. Just five sleeps away, it looms upon the horizon of a new year dawning.

What about the last?

At Abbey of the Arts, Christine Valters Paintner invites everyone to let a word find them and to meditate on that word throughout the year.

Last year, my word was Renewal. I was intrigued by this word. Intrigued and somewhat flummoxed. What was I to renew? My faith? In God? In humanity? In trusting in the moment?

It was, I realize as this year draws to a close, all of that, and more.

2011 was the year of renewing my belief in Love. In the beauty of One. In the power of humankind. In the fragility and possibility of one moment.

It was the year of coming home to my heart, in finding myself at peace within me, no matter where in the world peace was being challenged, coming apart or falling to pieces.

It was in the pieces I found myself connecting to the One. It was in the pieces I found my belief strengthening.

I believe this is a world of wonder. A world of possibility. A world, broken and abused, by humankind, not some 'other' but we, the human beings who inhabit this planet are creating the havoc we witness in our world.

Sure, there are storms and eruptions of the earth and other natural disasters. But the greatest disaster of all is the harm and pain we cause eachother upon this planet, and the devastation we cause to this giant ball spinning through space. We hurtle through space, orbiting the sun and drawing ever closer to its heat through the tearing away of the protective membranes that keep our world from burning up. And through it all we tell ourselves, 'we are invincible'. We are humankind. We will live forever.

Maybe. But not in this world. No, forever after comes on some distant plane of another's creation.

In this world, we are the destroyers and the builders. We are the war-makers and the peace-keepers. We are the killers and the creators. The haters and the Lovers.

We are the only one's making Love. The only one's making War.

We are one planet. One people. One world.

When will we renew our belief in humankind? When will we step into Love and let go of killing one another?

The New Year is but five sleeps away.

It's never too late to change direction.

Never too late to choose Love, not hatred. Peace, not war. It's never too late to have a change of heart. Never too late to forgive.

As I look back on 2011 I see a year of growth. Of moments of turmoil and many more moments of grace than I can count.

It is in those moments I focus my attention. It is in those moments of grace I am renewed. And as my spirit is renewed, my word for 2012 calls stronger to my heart -- Suppleness.

Yes. to let go of rigid thinking. To let go of judgment and criticism. To be soft and gentle in my approach in the coming year.

What's your word?

AND -- once you've found your word, please share it here, and/or, at Abbey of the Arts.

Namaste.

Love sparkles all around

2011-12-26T08:48:00.000-07:00

It is Boxing Day morning. The house slumbers -- which makes sense as 'the other's' chose to stay up and play boardgames until the wee hours while I opted for my bed around 11. The second load of dishes is going through the dishwasher, the living room is cleared -- except of course for the sparkly glitter that litters the living room rug, and most surfaces. It shot out of the plastic cap guns C.C. bought for the stockings -- they're filled with tiny nerf balls, he told me as we wrapped presents Christmas Eve and watched both the original and the 1994 version of Miracle on 34th Street.

He was mistaken. They're filled with tiny pieces of confetti glitter which we discovered yesterday morning while unwrapping gifts. Ryan, Liseanne's boyfriend, dug through his stocking, found the cap gun and pop! A loud bang ensued followed by tiny bits of multi-coloured pieces of confetti falling all around.

Place Card Treasure Boxes

It was rather funny (and pretty) -- and C.C. did vacuum it all up. But then, after dinner, after my mother and sister and her husband had left. After Taylor, C.C.s son's, girlfriend arrived and the board games were hauled out, a battle ensued -- who could startle the person beside them the most by popping a cap gun. Needless to say, the living room is littered with tiny pieces of coloured tinfoil sparkling all around -- it does look pretty and Liseanne has promised to vacuum it all up before she and Ryan leave for Ryan's hometown two hours away where they will redo Christmas all over again tonight.

It was a good Christmas -- and a sad one. For the first time since she was born 25 years ago, my eldest daughter Alexis wasn't here.

And I missed her terribly. Even as I type this I fear the sadness, and the tears.

Centre Piece

I had a theme for dinner last night. Treasures. I painted and glittered up small treasure chests and inside each one placed a heart with the name of each guest. These were the placecards telling people where they were to sit, and even more, telling them of what a treasure they are in my life. In the centre of the table I placed a big star shaped box that I filled with beads and jewels.

Pre-dinner snoozes

And the kitty guards the pop gun

Family and friends are my greatest treasure I told everyone. At this table are the people I treasure most -- except Alexis was missing and though she did come visit on Skype, it was not the same. I am so very grateful for the pre-Christmas dinner we had when she came for my birthday earlier this month. And, C.C. and I are flying to Vancouver on Thursday to spend a few days with her as well as my sister and hopefully my dear friend BA. Both Anne and BA were at the pre-Christmas dinner -- keeping the circle connected.

It's the thing about Christmas, about family, about our world. These days we are so mobile, so far flung at times, it's hard to get everyone together at one time.

I guess this Christmas is a foretelling of years to come, when both girls, and C.C.'s son and daughter too, take off to visit the world and find themselves in places far away on that very special day of the year.

And so, I carry them in my heart. Now and always. In my heart they are always present, even when I can't wrap my arms around them and say, I love you. They are in my heart and my heart always knows, Love is all it can carry.

And while this Christmas felt like a hole was in my heart missing a child who has brought me such joy and love and laughter and tears and beauty, my heart can only be filled with Love and gratitude for her presence in my life.

Thank you Mr. Turkey

Jackie and Mum

I am blessed. And I am grateful. And I am weary -- and that's okay. Today is a day to relax. To feel the house settle around me again. I sit in the quiet of morning, the tree lights sparkle. Music plays softly in the background and I take a deep breath as grace descends and Love sparkles all around.

Merry Christmas!

2011-12-25T07:03:00.002-07:00

And so this is Christmas.

Tiny white lights twinkle on the tree, the balls and stringed boughs of tiny glass beads glitter. And at the top of the tree, the angel, wings spread wide, heralds in good tidings of comfort and joy. Beneath the tree, brightly wrapped parcels are stacked as Ellie sleeps on guard at the edge of the treasures yet to be uncovered.

I sit in candlelight. The house wrapped in a warm, blanket of sleep, The chanting of Stile Antico playing softly in the background.

There is peace in my world.

May there be peace in yours.

Merry Christmas my friends. Your presence here throughout the year has added joy and laughter to my world. Your presence is the present of friendship, of shared experience, of Love.

Thank you everyone!

Merry Christmas. May the blessings of this holy season fill your world with wonder. May you know the Love the Christchild brings every year as we celebrate this holy of days together. No matter our faith. No matter our skin tone, or political affiliations. No matter the depth of our pockets or the thickness of the soles of our shoes, may we all be united today, and everyday, through Peace. Hope. Love and Joy.

Wishing you and your world the blessings of this season of joy.

And... A Christmas Eve song for everyone.

I was moved in the midst of the chaos of gift-buying and wrapping and preparing for this day, to write a song of Advent. It was, as they say, the spirit moving within me for I know not where the song came from. And then, I decided to record it, me singing my words -- to allow myself to be vulnerable in that moment of creating and to share my song with you.

Namaste.

20111223 162024 by Louiseg88
The Advent of the Christchild

Christmas Eve looms

bright as a star

shining on high

guiding

shepherds

wisemen too

to the one they seek

Allelluia

a savior’s born

of Mary

hark the herald

angels sing

this child will bring

Peace.

Hope and Love

this child will bring

Peace.

Hope and Love

Mary in dark

manger lies

swaddling the babe

while Joseph stands guard

and angels sing

on high

Alleluia

alleluia

a savior’s born

of Mary

Oh sinner man

fall down on bended knee

this child has come

to free your soul

and set your spirit free

Alleluia

alleluia

a savior’s born

of Mary

Good tidings reign

o’er the land

and constellations

shimmer

a child is born

to save the world

and angels sing on high.

Alleluia

alleluia

a savior’s born

of Mary

Alleluia

alleluia

a savior’s born

of Mary

Thank you Marianne Williamson

2011-12-24T06:22:00.002-07:00

My youngest daughter was aghast. "Mom. You posted a link to an article about yourself on your Facebook. Isn't that narcissistic?"

"Probably." I replied. "But why shouldn't I post it? The reporter wrote it for people to read. I was honoured and humbled by her desire to do something to celebrate my work in the homeless sector. And, I appreciated her support in helping me shine my light to inspire others to shine theirs."

"Wouldn't not posting it be false? I am proud of what Katie Turner wrote in Metro News. I want her to know she's touched my heart. What better way than to share the story?"

It's a funny conundrum. Be proud of what you've done -- but don't talk about it. And a refrain from childhood flits through my mind -- don't be vain. And the refrain from Carly Simon's 1972 hit joins in the cacophony of self-censorship. "You're so vain. I bet you think this song is about you. You're so vain."

But I don't think this song is 'about' me. Just as I don't think what I've done is about me. It's about living my magnificence. Being my best. Sharing my brilliance -- and inspiring others to see that they can too. -- Live their magnificence. Be their best. Share their brilliance.

And yet, for all my spaciousness around my daughter's comments, I come home and see several people have commented on my FB link -- and I don't want to read what they wrote. I want to pull down the mention of the article and pretend -- it doesn't matter.

But it does. Matter.

Because I don't want to buy into the notion that celebrating me is bad. I don't want to hide my light for fear it makes others feel uncomfortable -- or think less of me.

Thank you Marianne Williamson. My deepest fear is not that I am inadequate. My deepest fear is that I am powerful beyond measure.

People will always think of you what they will. As I learned many years ago -- Your opinion of me is none of my business. My opinion of me is what makes the difference for me, just as your opinion of you should be the most important opinion you listen to.

And so I come full circle. I was honoured by a reporter wanting to write a tribute as a farewell and a 'coming out from the shelter' story. She wanted to say, 'job well done'.

And I appreciate it. Because, as I leave this place where I have worked for almost six years, giving my best to shine a light on homelessness, I feel thankful to have had the opportunity, and the space to do a 'job well done'.

And my daughter's boyfriend chimes in. "Actually. I think it's pretty smart. If you're looking for new contracts and to let people know what you're doing next, what better way than that? Isn't that what you did everyday. Get the media to tell the stories so that people knew what the shelter and homelessness was all about?"

Yes. And for the same reason I wrote The Dandelion Spirit and did a host of other things around women and abuse, I want my story of living in the light of magnificence to be heard so that everyone will do the same -- no matter their circumstances. No matter their condition. No matter where they stand on the street.

Yeah. I'm okay.

In fact, I'm awesome! Just like you! Let's be awesome together and give the world our best! In our best, we create a world of difference.

Namaste.

A Rag Doll for Leah

2011-12-23T05:54:00.000-07:00

It is hard, in this festive season to catch your breath, to chill out and just relax and spend time chatting with someone special for no reason other than that they are special. This week I had just such an opportunity. I'd asked a co-worker one day when she dropped by my office what one of her favourite Christmas gifts was, and she presented me with a story of such hope and grace that I asked if I could share it. "Of course," she replied. "I would be honoured."
I am grateful for Leah sharing her story -- it is filled with love and joy and that special thing called grace which she spreads where ever she goes.

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

A Rag Doll for Leah

A Christmas Gift of Hope

Leah -- inside the tent during
On the Roof. Off the Street.

When she was five Leah R. didn’t know that being a guest atthe Calgary Fireman’s Children's Christmas party would give her something she couldhold onto for the rest of her life. That something was hope which came in theform of a Rag Doll she received as a gift at the party. That day, over 35 yearsago, when she walked into the Saddledome, her eyes were wide with wonder. “Icouldn’t imagine how all those people were there just for us. For me and mysister and other kids like us. Kids whose mom’s couldn’t afford presents underthe tree, or kids who just didn’t have moms and dads to take care of them.”

And yet, there they were, all those people Leah couldn’timagine, standing with open arms and wide smiles, treating them with kindnessand attention. Making them feel special. Giving them a present.

In Leah’s case, the present was a Rag Doll. “I thought shewas perfect and all I could do was hold onto her,” she laughs as she tells thestory. We are sitting in the Medical Office of the DI, the homeless shelter where we both work. After years working as a frontline staff, primarily in Intox, a large sleeping area for people under the influence of drugs or alcohol, Leah now contributes to the team as the Medical Assistant.

“I loved that doll,”she adds, her eyes misting with tears. “She was a connection to my mom. To mypast. To the hope that one day we’d spend Christmas with her together again.

It was that doll who would carry Leah through 11 fosterhomes and too many backseats of a Social Worker’s car, looking back through thewindow as she waved good-bye. “That day of the Fireman’s Christmas party Iwas too excited to connect the presence of Social Services with being taken awayfrom my mother. I thought I’d live with her forever.”

But it was not to be. A few days after Christmas, SocialServices came back, gathered up Leah and her sister, piled all their clothes intoa suitcase and placed the children into the back seat of a car. “All I couldtake were my clothes, and my Rag Doll,” she says. And then, they drove awayfrom the only home she’d ever known. “I remember looking out the back window,waving at my mom, not quite sure what was happening. My mom stood on thedoorstep waving and crying and I was confused and excited. I was going off onan adventure and I didn’t understand what it meant but my sister [who was 1year older] did. She was crying too and that confused me even more.”

“That was the last Christmas I ever spent with my mom,” Leahadds.

There’s a catch in her throat. A pause as she composesherself. Even now, over 35 years later, that day still touches her heart. “Iknow what it feels like to lose everyone you love,” she says. “I think that’swhy working here [at the DI] is so important to me. I know what it feels liketo believe nobody wants you, nobody loves you. As I grew older and kept gettingsent from foster home to orphanage and back to foster homes I knew nobody would ever adopt me. Nobodywants a big kid. Everyone wants the cute little babies.”

That understanding lead Leah and her wife, Denise, to fostertheir first child four years ago. “Tyra was 14 when she came to us,” she says, a big smile lighting up her face. “It was difficult at times but I knew wehad to keep loving her even when she was a handful. But who could blame her?She’d been shuttled from foster home to foster home, just like me. She believednobody could love her.”

But Leah and Denise worked hard to show the teenage Tyralove and attention. To help her understand, no matter what she’d done, or whathad happened in her life, she was lovable.

“It’s like with the clients here at the DI,” she says. “Ihold onto my belief they all have a chance to have the life they dream of. Theywill go home one day. I have to because without believing that, I’m giving uphope and I can never give up hope.”

It was her Rag Doll that taught her about holding onto hope,no matter how dark the days. “It was my only way to hold onto my mom,” she says. “As I got older I knew I couldn’t change my mom. I couldn’tstop her drinking or even make her fit the mold the Social Workers wanted herto fit. Like, not being native, not being a single mom. I couldn’t change anyof that but I could hold onto hope, and my Rag Doll gave me hope.”

Thirty-five plus years after first walking into theSaddledome and receiving her Rag Doll and the hope for a better life, Leah hascome full circle. A mother to two additional foster children, Leah took her four andten year old sons to the Fireman’s Christmas party for the first time thisyear. It was amazing she said.

“It was like walking into that arena all those years ago asa little girl. My eyes were wide with wonder and when the boys got treated sowell and I saw them smiling and laughing and having fun, I felt the gratitudeall over again,” she says. “I love how life has come full circle. The differencethis time though is that our home is a safe place for my children. Our home is the oneconstant they have, the one place they will always know they are loved, nomatter what.”

It has been a long journey for Leah from foster child toAdult Care worker to Medical Assistant at the DI. And throughout the journey,she has held onto the one constant she knows she can never give up, that onething her Rag Doll gave her so long ago. Hope.

And just as she does for her children, she will never giveup hope for the clients at the DI. “I will never give up believing in thepeople we serve,” she says. “I will never give up believing that they will getsober, they will go back home.” And she stops and takes a breath. “There was atime when I didn’t believe I’d ever have a home or a family of my own, and nowI do. For people here, if we give up hope, who will they hold onto? I had my RagDoll. We’re all they’ve got.”

Thank you Leah for all you do. For caring and sharing andnever giving up on hope that one day everyone will find their way home. Becauseof you and the 200+ staff who never give up on the people we serve, Hope livesat the DI.

The Holy Pause

2011-12-21T06:18:00.000-07:00

I am breathing. Deeply.

I am feeling. Completely.

That which I breathe.

It is a simple equation. A deep reflection of time, in this moment right now where I breathe and feel time moving within and around and about me. Where I become completely each breath I breathe without time stealing away that which I breathe into - this moment right now.

I am breathing.

In her article, The Holy Pause: Spiritual Practices for a Time-Obsessed Culture, Abbey of the Arts Abbess Christine Valters Paintner suggests we give ourselves holy pauses throughout the day. Mini sabbaticals from the hectic chaos all around, the Holy Pause allows us to breathe and take a moment to become fully present in the now, without life's busy-ness confusing us with its insistence we get things done, check off our lists and get to where we're going faster.

I am breathing.

I pause. A Holy Pause. A pause of anticipation. Filled with expectancy, the pregnant moment expands and gives birth to my presence here. In this moment where anticipation rests and I embrace what is without looking for what more.

I am breathing.

It is challenging, this being present in the moment. Staying connected to the Holy Pause and its call to reflect, refresh and renew my soulfulness.

My mind skitters, a thousand fragments of light fracturing the moment with tantalizing strands of possibility.

Go this way.

No. That.

Take this. No. Do that.

what about...

Oh yes, what about that idea that just careened into view, its entrails steaming with the desire to pull me from the Holy Pause into doing something about, that glittering whim of a notion.

I am breathing.

I feel the pull. The yearning to move away from my breath into doing something other, something more than just being mindful of the stillness within each breath.

There are tears here in this place of stillness. Tears and a sadness that surfaces only when my mind gives way to my thinking about what it can fill itself up with to avoid the stillness and the sadness of struggling to avoid this moment right here where I listen, deeply, to my soul's cry for silence.

It is in the silence I find my heart beat. It is in the beat of my heart I find my soul stirring, reaching out to the longing of the present moment unfolding. In this moment I feel the joy of giving myself up completely and with abandon to the wonder and beauty and awe of being in this breath right now unfolding within me.

I am breathing. Deeply.

And with each breath I become part of the circle of life flowing all around me.

I inhale andI am filled with life-giving oxygen. The breath enters my body and becomes transformed into Divine and holy life.

I exhale and my breath becomes part of the Divine existence teeming with life all around me.

I am immersed in the Holy Pause filling my being present here with an awe that transcends knowing as I become one with the world around me.

In that Oneness I become each breath, co-creating my being present in this world of awesome beauty.

Letting go to hold onto Love

2011-12-20T07:09:00.002-07:00

May I have complete and compassionate acceptance of what is instead of wishing things were different. A Zen prayer

In the Reflection portion of the Child of Light Advent course I am taking online, moderator Beth Richardson's invitation is to: "Make a list of any fears and concerns you feel today. Read through the list and ask God to take each worry, each concern, and fill you with trust. Use the prayer, "God, I give you "this worry". Shine your light on "this worry" and fill me with trust in you."

I struggle with trust in God. Which I find frustrating and enlightening of the depth of my fear of trusting in God.

I have no issue trusting in the security of the Internet with my credit card information. Or trusting in other drivers on the road to stick to their lanes, or in trusting a doctor, or dentist, or even my hairstylist not to make a complete botch of their job. I trust I will awaken in the morning, that the lights will turn on and water flow through the tap. I trust when I open the fridge the food will be cold and when I put bread in the toaster it will be toasted to perfection. I trust in my government to do the right thing (okay well maybe that's stretching it a little bit -- they are human) and I trust in banks and other institutions to protect my interests (right, human too). I trust in my employer to pay me at the end of each month, in my case at the end of this month and then never more. And that's okay because I trust that I have the talent and the gifts and relationships and the business acumen to build my own business. I trust business will come. That others will trust me to take care of their business.

I trust in my daily life because I must. There is no other way.

But trust in God?I don't think so.I mean, I can't even see him and seriously? He's the guy who let's the heavens fall with such force flash flooding sweeps away entire villages.

And he's the one who let's innocent children become soldiers who kill their families and other children and strangers too.

And he's the one who didn't stop a young boy from killing his girlfriend and three strangers and who didn't stop one man from killing over 60 prostitutes and one woman from drowning her children.

And really, if he can't stop one woman from killing her babies, why should I trust him?

And the voice whispers, because you must. There is no other way.

Oh god how I hate that voice. it won't leave me alone. And my voice, the one that convinced me to believe in a man who promised to love me 'til death do us part and got really busy on making the death part work, and the one who believed she couldn't make her dreams come true and who once gave up on her children... yeah, that inner voice I trust so much that let me down so many times screams back, there has to be another way.

Of course there has to be another way! If God can't create a world of Peace. Hope. Love and Joy why should I trust him?

That's why it's called a Leap of Faith Louise, the other voice, the one that likes to gently coax me to trust in God, whispers, Because trusting in a Divine presence is all there is to hold onto in a world of chaos, a world of miracles and light, darkness and sorrow. A world where we, the human beings who have created everything on this planet -- except the birds and the bees and the trees and the streams -- have also created things called war and hatred and ugly Christmas sweaters -- but we won't go there, that one's too deep to fathom.

Seriously Louise. Who? What? How? When? are you going to give up distrusting the Universe and believe in something bigger than yourself?

When are you going to let go and Let God?

Good question for this morning where I sit in the quiet of my home, the Christmas tree lights twinkling, Ellie sleeping by my feet, the hum of my computer the only sound.

Good question for any morning when I awaken to find the world is as I left it when I fell asleep the night before. The world is as it is. Not as I would like it to be.

And then I sigh. A deep soul-wrenching sigh.

My angst is not because there isn't a God, or a sentient being of light in the world.

My angst is because I want to be in control and to have control I must fight believing in something greater than my mere presence in the world. And it's deeper than that. My angst is because I fight holding onto anything, including Love.

I breathe and hold out my hand. I breathe and hold out my heart. I breathe and let go of my hold on anything other than Love.

I breathe and Love enters and I know -- all is well in my world when I let go of believing I have control of my world.

I don't need control. All I need is Love.

And in that Love, God shines.

Fourth Sunday of Advent: A prayer of Gratitude

2011-12-19T06:13:00.000-07:00

I know. I know. My blog has a new look and feel this morning... I got adventurous and tested all kinds of ways to make it pretty, including borrowing a template design from the amazing Tera Zacker at Olive Vue Designs. Tera's artwork and interview was the subject of the d'Verse Poets prompt on the weekend. I wrote the poem, In the Absence of You based on one of Tera's paintings.

And because I have a 7am meeting, I am sharing the post I wrote for the Choices Blog yesterday on the Fourth Sunday of Advent.

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

This is the fourth Sunday of Advent. The fourth and final Sunday in a quartet of weeks focused on the anticipation of the Christchild’s birth. it has been a time of waiting and reflection for me. A time of impending change. At the end of the year, after almost six years working in a homeless shelter, I shall be moving on, shifting gears, opening up to new challenges, new opportunities.

It is a time of sadness and of joy. Of knowing I have given my best, delivered my all in making a difference in the world of homelessness. And now, it is time. Time to move beyond the shelter doors into life beyond my wildest imaginings.

As I prepare to leave, I carry away with me the truth of what working there has meant for me. It has made me a better human being.

And at the end of my tenure at the shelter, there is nothing more that I could ask for than to know that in having spent time working and playing and sharing and growing in the shelter, I am better for the experience.

The other day a man who lives at the shelter asked me, “Did you get your coffee?” I had spent three days, three nights sleeping in a tent on the roof of the shelter as part of a fundraiser and awareness builder and one night a coffee arrived with a note from Mike. Enjoy! was all it said.

There are a lot of Mike’s at the shelter and I thought it was one of our staff. And while they supported the campout on the roof wholeheartedly, it wasn’t one of them who sent me the coffee. It was a man who has little. Who stands at ‘Cash Corner’ everyday waiting to be picked up as a day labourer by someone looking for cheap labour, no questions asked. A man struggling with his own demons, his own limitations who chose to share with me what little he has so that he could say, "thank you" to me for having spent the time drawing attention to this condition called, 'Homeless'.

I cried when I learned it was Mike who sent me up the coffee on the roof. I cried and I thanked him and felt my heart expand. He inspired me. To do my best. To never quit speaking up. To never quit giving voice to what ails our communities and our society -- poverty, addictions, mental illness, abuse... We must speak up if anyone is to hear our call for healing.

As I move beyond the shelter doors I know what is true for me – I want to give the world the best I’ve got within me. I want to share the best of me so that all around me people can find their light and shine. So that everyone knows, no matter their condition, no matter where they stand on the economic scale, no matter their address, no matter their belief system, they are magnificent.

As I prepare for the next stage of my ‘adventure of a lifetime’, I know – there’s nothing more I want to give the world than my best. There’s nothing more I want to share than my magnificence.

For in my giving my best, in sharing my magnificence, I am comforted in knowing, I will receive the gift of the ‘best’ from the world around me.

I am leaving the shelter, stepping out onto the big, broad highway of life carrying with me the most incredible gift of all – the realization that there is no us and them, there is no, I can you can’t, no quid pro quo. There is only this condition, this human condition through which we are all connected, through which we all share in the common goal of wanting to leave the world better off than when we found it.

As I prepare to leave the shelter, as I make plans for a new tomorrow, I am grateful for this time to find myself at home in a place where to belong, you must give up everything you ever owned to share in the human condition called, homeless.

As I look towards a different tomorrow, I know that I am leaving behind all that I gave and taking with me all that I have learned, all that I treasure, all that is important to me. I am taking with me all that I received in almost six years of working at a homeless shelter. I am taking away my humanity and my heart filled with gratitude.

It is the fourth Sunday of Advent. As I prepare for Christmas day, for the miracle of a child's birth, I thank God and all the universe for this precious thing called my life. I thank you for being here with me every Sunday. For listening and reading and being part of this amazing journey of our lifetime shared in the wonder of being humans on the journey of our lifetimes.

I am grateful.

The question is: "What are you willing to give the world?"

A snow angel in the morning

2011-12-18T09:43:00.002-07:00

Streaks of snow fall on my iPhone

It is snowing. Soft gentle flakes floating down in a night sky turning dark to light. I let Ellie out, shovel the walk and my neighbours too. I come in, move to the back door to let Ellie in and a thought floats through my mind as gentle as the snow settling on the branches of the pine tree outside my front door.

"You could make a snow angel," the thought whispers.

I laugh, brush it aside and call Ellie in to her breakfast.

But the thought persists. I measure it, taking stock of its prompt, calibrating the depth of its desire to let go, let loose, let playfulness rise.

I laugh again. I am still in my pajamas. Oh scandalous me. I shovelled the walk wearing nothing but my pj's under my big winter coat and boots!

I'm still laughing as I pile on my coat and hat, gloves and boots and traipse out the back door.

I can make a snow angel.

I can lie down looking up at the lightening sky. Feel the snow floating down upon my face. See the trees from below, feel the air above me.

I can make a snow angel.

And I do.

and I am laughing and feeling foolish and giddy and I don't care.

I am making a snow angel.

The sky breaks into day

Looking Up

My Snow Angel

Looking down at me looking up

In the Absence of You (a poem)

2011-12-17T18:49:00.000-07:00

Rain Dance -Tera Zajack

olive hue designs

In the Absence of You

I am dancing

barefoot

my tears falling

unseen

in the rain

streaking

down

hard and fast

against my red dress

billowing

out

outside

in the rain

you danced

barefoot

and I held

hard and fast

to my rules

you’ll catch the death of a cold

I said

and you knelt down

and took off my shoes

and we danced

barefoot

together

and you laughed

and I said

Watch out

and you said

don't stop

look and listen

to the rain

nothing can hurt you

when you're dancing

in the rain

with me

and my bare feet felt

the cold hard cobblestones

trembling

I stopped

and you danced ahead

urging me on

and I cried,

Stop

but it was

too late

to stop

look

and listen

before you cross

the street

empty now

I feel the absence

of you

dancing

in the rain.

This poem was written using the prompt provided over at dVerse poets and Brian Miller. The fantastic poetics prompt Brian has cooked up features four Tera Zajack's paintings along with an interview of the artist herself.

Let yourself be inspired. Visit dVerse poets and be part of the magic.

An addendum:

Maureen inspired me to record In the Absence of You. also, when I was a little girl, I learned a verse to protect me when crossing the street. I make reference to it in the poem -- which for those who don't know it, was from a Safety Bear whose name I forget but whose verse I've never forgotten:

Stop
Look
and Listen
before you cross the street.

Use your eyes
and use your ears
before you use your feet.

In the Absence of You

12 18 2011 9 05 AM by Louiseg88

At home this Christmas

2011-12-17T08:21:00.001-07:00

A Tree for Christmas

She hasn't had a Christmas tree in four years. Not because she didn't want one. She never gave up wanting one. She didn't have one because for four years she didn't have a home to put one up in. This year, she does.

It's not a large tree, but in her one bedroom apartment, it fits perfectly. "I love the smell," she says as she ties another silver ball onto a branch. She breathes deeply. "Oh wow! This is so exciting."

I am sitting in a chair watching her, asking questions, chatting, attaching hooks to each ball in preparation of its placement on the tree. My co-worker is holding the video camera, capturing the moment, silently observing.

I had chatted with Karen the day before when at the apartment building the shelter owns in the downtown core. I was arranging clients for a photo shoot for a new brochure that is being developed to assist in fund-raising for the shelter where I work. The goal is to pay off the mortgage so that we can convert more apartments into affordable housing units. Karen had agreed to have her photo taken for the brochure as a way to give back to the agency that has, as she describes it, 'saved my life'.

I knew Karen when she was staying at the shelter. A tiny bird of a woman, chronic health conditions, addiction, along with a messy divorce left her without a home, or the ability to work. In her weakened state, she became one of those who 'fall through the cracks', and end up on the doorstep of the shelter. Over the course of her four years in and out of various housing programs and shelters in the city, she never had a place of her own at Christmas.

And then, in June of this year, Karen got a place of her own. A one bedroom apartment to call her home.

As I watched Karen carefully place decorations on the tree, I was moved and touched and reminded of the delicacy of this thread called the human condition. A thread made up of tiny moments that link us to the wonder, and sometimes sorrow, of being human, of being part of humankind, alone, yet not alone. Together, yet separate.

Karen's tree was a gift. A gift from a woman she met during the summer while in hospital for six weeks receiving chemotherapy. The woman, Judy, was in the next bed. For six weeks the two women from very separate and different walks of life connected. They talked and shared and when Karen got out of hospital, Judy took it upon herself to create a welcome home for Karen in her new apartment.

And that's where the magic kept unfolding.

Being released from hospital into homelessness is one of the tragedies in our social fabric. For Karen, being released back to the shelter was a given. Until management stepped in and made it possible for her to get the keys to her own place.

And then Judy stepped in and 'prettied up' the place. She held a house-warming for Karen, inviting her lady friends to come and create a place of comfort and beauty for this woman she'd met while lying in a hospital bed, recovering from her own serious medical condition.

I sat and watched and chatted with Karen yesterday and I knew it was there. In that room with us. It was palpable. The spirit of Christmas. The best of our human condition dancing in the twinkling lights of a Christmas tree that was a gift from a stranger who has become a friend and who continues to take the time to ensure this woman for whom life has not been easy, finds a less stressful, more beautiful path.

"What does having your own place this Christmas mean to you?" I asked Karen as she tossed tinsel and reminisced about Christmases past.

"It means I get to spend it with my daughter. We get to be a family."

And there it was, all over again. The meaning of Christmas. It's not in the baubles and glitter. The gifts or the Christmas cards strung along a mantle. It's right here between us. Right where we are. It's a place to belong. To be welcomed. To be together. A place where family meets and connects to what makes magic happen -- our human condition shining in Love.

Namaste.

O Come. O Come Emmanuel

2011-12-16T07:22:00.000-07:00

It is the third week of Advent. Anticipation hangs in the air, glittering with the shimmer of a thousand candles glowing in the night.

The Christchild is coming.

I wait in expectation of the holy of holy nights when hope shall spring forth in a world of peace, joy and Love.

In the Advent meditation I am participating in we are invited this week to meditate on the words of the Christmas carol, O Come! O Come! Emmanuel. It is one of my favourites. One of those songs that plays itself in my head, even when I'm not thinking about it.

In the beginning notes of the week, Beth Richardson, who is guiding the course at Spirituality & Practice writes:

Words: 9th-century Latin
Music: 15th-century French

The words to this Advent hymn were translated from ninth-century Latin prayers of the Catholic Church. They were known as the "Great Antiphons" or "O Antiphons" (referring to the use of "O come" at the beginning of each antiphon). It is thought that a different antiphon was sung in the monastery on succeeding nights leading up to Christmas. Each antiphon bears a different name for the Messiah.

According to scholar Mother Thomas More, the tune, "Veni Emmanuel," was used as a processional for a community of fifteenth-century French Franciscan nuns living in Lisbon, Portugal. When I hear this hymn, I think of monks or nuns in candlelit cathedrals singing hope in the darkness of the nights before Christmas.

In the meditation course, the invitation is to deepen our understanding of this season through focusing on songs of Advent that speak to the universal truths of our humanity -- we are born in the reflection of God. We embody God's greatness. We are magnificent. We are holy. We are divine.

This is not 'God' as limited by our language, but rather a concept of God that is unlimited through a broadening of our vocabulary -- The Divine. Creator. Yaweh. Almighty Father. King of Kings. Spirit, Lord.

I like the concept of broadening my 'God vocabulary'. Of moving beyond the secular of my language to the Divine presence embodied in the collective will of man, a spirit that embraces me in wonder as I stand in Love.

I am enjoying my Advent meditations. Finding myself focusing on the spiritual elements of the season, and of my being. I am slowing down, moving inward unhooking the external drive to buy more, spend more, give more this season as I connect to the holy within and all around me.

I am breathing into my divine essence, coming home to the One. Hearing the Divine calling of my name as I embrace the beauty and the wonder of my human condition -- I am the Divine expression of God's amazing grace.

In this morning's meditation we were invited to consider the question: "What does God call me?"

Child. Friend. Believer?

"What does God call me?"

Perhaps the answer is... Home.

Namaste.

I went in search of a recording to share and found this beautiful video and recording performed and arranged by Mike Massé and Wendy Jernigan in December, 2001. Scott Slusher provided additional percussion arranging. Video assembled/edited by Mike Massé on 12/05/09.

I invite you to give yourself an Advent breather -- the video is filled with beautiful paintings depicting images of the Christchild's birth.

Make me an instrument of thy peace

2011-12-15T07:38:00.002-07:00

Life consists not in holding good cards but in playingthose you hold well. Josh Billings

It is a week since I came 'off the roof'. A week since sleeping for three nights in a tent in the cold of winter has ended.

It has been a week of processing. Of considering. Of ruminating on the realities of what happened and how I was affected. Last night, at meditation group, my roof experience returned to enlighten me.

One of the most astounding aspects of my learning from On the Roof. Off the Street was how tiring it is to do anything. And I mean anything. Sitting in that space, curled up under my sleeping bag, everything took energy. From the idea of getting up and out of the tent to use the washroom, to getting up and out of the tent to simply look at the sky, it all took just too much energy to even think about getting it done let alone actually doing.

Sleeping in a tent in the dark of winter on a roof in the downtown core took energy -- which helped me understand why, when someone is homeless, or sleeping rough (sleeping outdoors not in a shelter), hygiene is one of the first things to go.

I thought it was because as individuals slip into that invisible place called, homeless, they fall into the ennui of not caring about themselves any longer, they just can't be bothered. And while that plays a part in the equation, I found myself slipping there because of the energy it took to simply do anything. It was so incredibly tiring to have to move around, to get up and put on boots and then go in and take off coats and then put everything back on again.

To simply 'run out and grab something' just didn't work. The minute the cold seeps into your bones, you have to fight to warm back up -- and if sleeping rough, as in no washroom to run into, or warm kitchen to scoot inside to warm up -- any amount of cold seeping in requires more energy to dispel -- and in that condition called homeless, there's not a lot of excess energy to go around. Dispelling cold is a herculean feat not for the faint of heart and definitely not for the tired and weary.

Last night at meditation, we were invited to imagine ourselves standing on top of a high peak, the highest possible, higher even than Mt Everest. Imagine the molecules that comprise your body fall away, melt into the air, our meditation guide, Dal, counselled. Now, imagine the essence of you, the soul being, gently moving through the valley's below the peak. Imagine it wandering lightly through the villages and towns below. What do you see?

It was the sadness that hit me. As I came down into the towns I found myself in Africa. It made sense. I've been reading Romeo Dallaire's, They Fight Like Soldiers, They Die Like Children. It is not a book I wanted to read but it is a book I believe I must read. I believe it is important to know what truly goes on in our world in order to honour the human beings experiencing it and to support General Dallaire and his work to eradicate the use of child soldiers. They Fight Like Soldiers, They Die Like Children is a tough read. Well written, it paints a picture that challenges the scope of my western mind and its capacity to believe -- this can actually happen, be going on in our world.

And then, in my meditation I saw them. These children whose childhood's have been ripped away. These children who have been taught to kill.

And I felt it. The sorrow and the confusion and the disbelief of watching children killing children. Killing adults. Carrying guns and machetes. Disfiguring their families. Destroying their lives.

And I cried. And I felt the heaviness of their acts. The sorrow of their being abused.

So much pain. So much tragedy.

After the meditation exercise, Dal asked each of us what we experienced. I shared mine, and how the sadness was pervasive. It was everywhere.

Let's go back, Dal invited. As a group, let's go back to that space and feel us supporting you as you stand in the light of Love, seeing it through those eyes, that space.

It was in the going back that I found the truth.

I do not, we do not, have the answers for Africa. India. China. Syria nor even Canada or the USA or homelessness in someone's life. We do not have the power to stop what other's do in their lives.

What we have is the capacity to hold a space and be present In Love. To shine. To know. I cannot change you. I can change how I see you. I can change how I witness your life.

Sitting on the roof, feeling the tiredness of homelessness stripping away my will to 'do' or be anything other than in that tent doing nothing, I understand.

I cannot 'solve' homelessness. I can witness it through eyes of Love. I can stand In Love and know -- for homelessness to be different, I must be different. For killing to end, I must stop hating those who kill and find the courage to Love. To stand in Love and know -- Love is all there is. Love can never be destroyed, no matter how hard we try to destroy eachother.

I hear the Prayer of St. Francis, I told the group -- Make me an instrument of Thy peace.

Yes, said Dal. I hear it too. Make me an instrument of Thy service.

Let us be the instruments of Peace. The channels of Hope. Love and Joy in a world where sorrow finds no space to grow for Love is all around.

Namaste

My epiphany

2011-12-14T07:53:00.002-07:00

My epiphany didn't arrive with ringing bells and heralding angels. It didn't come riding in on a chariot drawn by four fire breathing stallions chomping at the bit of my fear or my belief that I would never awaken from the land of the living dead.

My epiphany came in the quiet of the night. In the silence of the dark winter of my soul crumbling beneath the fear that I would never find the one I'd lost in that journey through the hell of an abusive relationship. It came after I was set free. After I had spoken up and told the truth, to the police, my daughters, my family, my friends, to myself. It came in the quiet awakening of my realization that miracle's are free. Miracles are everywhere. It wasn't that God couldn't hear my suffering through those long years of despair. It was that I wasn't listening. It was me who couldn't see. Didn't believe.

And then, a miracle drove up in a blue and white police car and I was given the gift of freedom. The gift to choose living in a world of wonder, or dying in the hell of the living dead.

I chose life. Freedom. Beauty. Wonder.

I chose Love.

It is a choice I make everyday. A decision I embrace every morning. To live in Love. To stand in Truth. To walk in Beauty.

And I sing a chant I learned as a child, long ago, when I feared God would never love me,

I walk in beauty now. Beauty lies before me. Beauty lies above me, behind and below me.

In the darkness, God was there. In the darkness, the angels were protecting me. In the darkness, I was lost not because there was no light. I was lost because I wasn't looking for light, I was searching for answers in a man who wasn't true, in a love that wasn't real. I was lost because I did not believe I could be free.

In the light, I find my truth is here. Within me. Breathing life into every breath. Expanding beauty into every moment. In the light, I am free.

In freedom the darkness is illuminated by the light of Love. And in that light, I am free of my fear that I will never have enough, do enough or be enough. I am free of my fear, God will never love me.

I do. Have enough. I am enough. I have all I need to live this one wild and precious life in the rapture of now, abandoning myself to Love.

Just the way I am. The yin and yang of my perfectly human imperfections. Beauty and the Beast. Light and Darkness shining through the night, awakening to the truth, I am enough.

In the end, God never gave up on me. I gave up on Him. I turned my back on Love. I shut out the light.

My epiphany didn't come in a flash of insight. It came in the light dawning within me, in the beauty of knowing, I am all I need to be when I stand in Love.

For in the darkness and the light, Love is all there is to hold onto.

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

Over at Maureen's Writing without Paper, she shares a poem today, Epiphany along with Marcus Goodyear's invitation to participate in an "Epiphany" challenge by sharing a poem or short story in a blog post or a public FaceBook post about an epiphany.

To learn more and to find out how to participate, read Marcus's post "Only Zombies Worship Styrofoam Jesus". (it's a great read!)

Anyone may respond to the challenge. Post a link to yourcontribution on the Books & Culture FaceBook wall by December 15. Marcus will read allstories and poems and comment on as many as possible; Books & Culture editorJohn Wilson will comment on the best entries. In the New Year, during the firstweek of Epiphany, Books& Culture will feature a poem or story of choice.

Love is All

2011-12-13T08:07:00.001-07:00

Where beauty is, then there is ugliness;
where right is, also there is wrong.
Knowledge and ignorance are interdependent;
delusion and enlightenment condition each other.
Since olden times it has been so.
How could it be otherwise now?
Wanting to get rid of one and grab the other
is merely realizing a scene of stupidity.
Even if you speak of the wonder of it all,
how do you deal with each thing changing?
-Ryokan-

Alexis and Zoe take a break

There is nothing like a little kitty to bring joy and laughter into a home. And Zoe, my youngest daughter's kitty who descended on our home Thursday night, has definitely done just that -- given cause for joy and laughter, smiles and moans of "she's so sweet" and other not so intelligent utterances from the mouths of normally sane and not too saccharine individuals.

Zoe comes from a farm. Dropped off by strangers one night in November, friends took her in but didn't feel they could keep her -- they already have six other cats they've rescued in similar fashion. While visiting them for dinner one night, I fell in love with Zoe -- but felt it prudent to suggest she find a home with my daughter and her boyfriend as I was concerned Ellie, the wonder pooch and in particular, Marley, the Great Cat, might not take well to a kitty moving in.

I need not have worried. Because Liseanne is here while Alexis her sister is visiting, Zoe came too. It took all of three minutes for Marley and Zoe to get over their initial hissy fit and start to play. Ellie just can't be bothered. I swear that pooch just rolls her eyes and says to herself whenever I do something (which is frequent) to contravene her doggie code of ethics, "Give me strength. She is why I need Valium. Think I'll go hunt up chocolate in someone's purse."

Zoe reminds me, constantly, to stop, look, enjoy. To take a breath and simply treasure the moment, this one right now. To not fret about what's coming up, but rather to savour what is.

To live in the now, the rapture of now, as Joseph Campbell called it. To simply be at one, delighting in what is all around, exploring the wonder of the world as it is, not as I'd like it to be.

As I wind down my tenure at the homeless shelter where I've worked since May 2006, I find myself wanting to right wrongs, turn events and up end mistakes. Yet, in truth, what I see as wrongs and mistakes are simply other people working out their stuff. It is in my perceptions and judgments that I see them as 'wrong' and other transgressions. And yes, my perceptions have value, but I have made my case, stated my beliefs and know that resigning is the right thing for me. It is what I need to do to create more of what I want in my life.

The hard part of leaving is the fact that I really care about the people and the place. These past 5+ years have been a blessing in my life. I've grown and evolved and had my heart touched in ways I never imagined.

And I am grateful. Grateful for the opportunity to have met and worked and played and been amongst such amazing people. Grateful for the opportunity to make a difference.

And I know I have. Made a difference. And been made different.

Faerie Dances -- mixed media

I am grateful. For in that difference within me is an understanding and appreciation for this thing called, our human condition. Its depth, its beauty, its brilliance. Its darkness and its light.

Yesterday, my eldest daughter, Alexis and I spent the day painting. It was a day of wonder and joy and spending time with this young woman who is so incredibly gifted and kind and beautiful. A woman who reflects the wonder of the world all around.

In my mixed media painting, Faerie Dances, I collaged in a quote from Buddha which ends with -- don't worry about the dark, it is in the dark the light shines brightest.

I don't need to worry about leaving the homeless shelter, it is in the leaving the light shines brightest.

I don't need to worry about Alexis going back to Vancouver tonight and not being here for Christmas, it is in the darkness of her absence the light of Love shines most brilliant. For in her absence and her presence, I see her through eyes of Love, shining, brilliant, sparkling Love.

I am reminded by this little kitty cat who has just jumped onto the desk beside my bed to sniff the flowers, that this moment is where I exist right now. In this moment right now, it is my responsibility to fill it with all that I want in life. To not get caught up in the drama of believing the universe is out to get me, or them, or her, or him, but rather, to live in the joy of knowing, the Universe is with me. The Universe needs me to be all that I can be. It needs me to give all that I can to create beauty in a sometimes darkened world so that the light can shine in the dark and illuminate the path to living life in the rapture of now.

For at the end of the day, no matter if it's the beginning, middle or end of a moment, or a lifetime, Love is eternal. Love never dies. Love is all there is to hold onto.

Namaste

Waiting for Christmas: 3rd Sunday of Advent

2011-12-11T08:57:00.001-07:00

Ellie waits for Christmas to arrive
(or maybe food)

It is a time of waiting. Of holding the stillness in the quiet of the long dark night of winter, anticipating the promise of what is to be born alive in our hearts.

It is a time of waiting. Snow falls. The world softens. My heart is full.

I have everything I want for Christmas, right here, right now, in my home, in my heart.

Last night we gathered around a laden table, family and friends, Ellie sleeping at our feet below (or maybe she was just trying to mooch food and wasn't really sleeping). Both my daughters were there, one boyfriend, C.C., his two children, his son's girlfriend, my mother, both my sisters (a first in many, many years), my brother-in-law, and dear friends.

Anne with the Christmas Hen
for the Vegetarians

We laughed and ate and sipped wine. We teased eachother. We nudged the person next to us when someone said something particularly outrageous. We giggled when Liseanne and her boyfriend, Ryan's new kitty leapt on Marley the Great Cat sending Marley into a paroxysm of having to get away, fast.

And after dinner, the men retreated to the den to watch the end of the hockey game while the women sat in the 'drawing room' the Christmas tree lights glittering, the candles flickering and love dancing all around.

So this is Christmas.

In my heart.

Full and loving. Content and serene.

So this is Christmas. Love is in the air. Love is all around.

May the spirit of Christmas abound in all our lives.

A different view

2011-12-09T08:05:00.001-07:00

It was a different view out the door this morning than for the past few days. Quieter too.

It is the quiet that is most refreshing. City noises are more distant here. Sounds of traffic muted, voices on the street unheard. Though there are birds chirping in the backyard, fluttering about the feeder, vying for position.

I am off the roof.

And did I mention? I am tired.

My eldest daughter flew in from Vancouver last night. It was beautiful and sunny in Vancouver when I left, she informed her sister and me when we picked her up. I ran along the seawall this afternoon. It was gorgeous.

I suggested she imagine the snow as white waves undulating across the ground.

She was not impressed with my humour. "I'm so funny," I reminded her. Both she and her sister rolled their eyes.

We had dinner and C.C. joined us when he arrived back from Saskatoon. It was his birthday and mine today so we celebrated and laughed and teased each other. The girls did their imitation of me not wanting to be the centre of attention and I laughed and told them that it's not that I want to be the centre of attention, it's just that I believe it's important to get people's attention so that they find the centre of their truth and give it all their attention.

They rolled their eyes, again, and nudged eachother. "It's ok, mum," Alexis the eldest said. "In therapy this week I realized, you are the reason I'm so messed up."

I smiled. "Then it worked!" I exclaimed. "I always told you growing up that one day you'd be in therapy and I felt as a mother it was important to give you lots to work with. I've succeeded!"

Liseanne, witty as every, quickly inserted, folding her hands in front of her on the table, leaning slightly forward and speaking in a quiet, serious tone (I think she might have been attempting to imitate me, again). "Yes, well the way I see it is we figure you need to be in therapy now mom so we're giving you lots to work with. Mothers always blame their daughters for their problems so we're just making sure you don't waste good therapy."

I love my daughters. They give me so much good therapy.

All is well in my world.

I am home.

After three days and nights sleeping on the roof of the homeless shelter where I work, I am off the roof and ensconced in my favourite corner of the front room. C.C. is asleep in our bed and Ellie is curled up on her mat beside me. Marley lays sprawled across the back of the sofa and the girls, after spending hours curled up together on Alexis' bed getting caught up last night, are now both sleeping in their rooms.

All is well in my world.

This afternoon, we're off to pick out our tree (I wanted to go into the forest to chop one down but after the girls quit rolling on the floor laughing, they convinced me the three of us alone in the woods with an ax might not be a pretty sight -- though we could take an ax to the Christmas tree lot, my youngest suggested, and take photos of you 'pretending' to cut down a tree. -- yes, because of my daughters, I do need therapy.)

Tonight, C.C's son and daughter will join us in decorating the Christmas tree, hanging bows and ribbons, sharing in laughter and song and a meal.

I am glad for the time on the roof. I am happy to be home.

And in the end, that is the truth -- we all want to get home. Sometimes, the path is more difficult. but we must never quit trying and never quit helping those who are lost find their way back home.

Namaste.

Reporting from On the Roof: The final hour draws closed

2011-12-08T07:55:00.001-07:00

Les and the ConocoPhillips team ready to leave
after volunteering to serve breakfast

"No one would have crossed the ocean if he couldhave gotten off the ship in the storm." Charles Kettering

Amazing though it may sound, I slept in this morning. Imagine! Sleeping in inside a tent on the roof of the old DI at -15C.

As we draw into our last hour on the roof, I'm happy. And I'm sad.

It has been an amazing experience.

So many people to thank. So many people came up to the roof and supported us. So many made this adventure possible.

It began with an idea by one person (Dave Tod -- if he ever says to you, "Hey, I've got an idea. What do you think about..." RUN! Just kidding. What you need to do is LISTEN. And then, ACT.

The moon looks watches over us

Take action.

Do something. Take a step, or two or three. Gather allies, supporters. Get people talking about your idea. Get people to share their energy and their support and their time so that they too can be part of the magic of your idea unfolding.

That's what Dave did. He had an idea. I listened. Other's listened. And then we said -- Yes. Why not. Never tried it before. Sounds like it could work.

Because really... in the end. Whether we raised $10 or $20,000+ (which is what we did -- thank you everyone!) in doing it, we created a buzz, an energy, a sense of 'we're doing something worthwhile here. Let's keep going forward.'

And forward we did go. From all the logistics Dave took care of with getting people on board to contribute to signage and fencing and sleeping out accoutrement like tents and sleeping bags, Dave took care of the details.

Me, all I had to do was send out a few news releases and turn up on the roof willing to take part, to take action.

Dave's last sleep in the ten

And, like so many who came up here to be part of the spirit, who cheered us on from the smoke deck, from the floors of the shelter, from the roadway passing by, from tweets to Facebook Likes and Shares, to comments on the blog -- you have all taken action and been part of the spirit of making things happen. Of creating change and building awareness, not just of the event. No, it's not just about the event -- it's about the vision and purpose of the event -- to draw attention to what we do here at the shelter. What happens in people's lives who are homeless and what we can do as individuals and a community to pitch in, or, as in the case of these past three days, pitch a tent or two to make a difference.

And we have. Made a difference.

As my friend Max wrote in an email the other day, "At the end of the day, all we can ask ourselves is, "Did I make a difference?" And you have."

Thank you everyone. Being up here has made a difference within me, and in the world around me. Having you with me as cheerleaders has made a difference. If I'd thought about what it would take to stay up on the roof for three days, I probably never would have stepped out onto the roof. But having your support, knowing what the 'bigger picture' was, being here actually made sense.

Smoke rises off the smoke deck

And in the end, as the final hour draws to a close, I know. Together we have made a difference. Together we can bring people in from the cold to a place where they know, no matter their condition, there is a welcoming hand, a warm smile and a comforting voice to guide them.

You are all amazing.

Thank you!

Cindy and a volunteer start cooking dinner for Friday night
(40 pork roasts ready for the oven)

One last traffic photo for the CBC EyeOpener

Cindy hams it up on the fence

No way but to go through with it

2011-12-07T22:18:00.001-07:00

Dave and Louisei n the tent

I had to go off the roof tonight for awhile. When we'd planned the event last September, we had talked about three days. For some reason -- call it my right brain thinking -- three days did not connect to three nights. Until Alan Facey, our Director of Administration and Finance, who's amazing with numbers and dates, mentioned last week that 72 hours beginning at 9am Monday doesn't end until 9am Thursday -- not Wednesday.

Oh. Really?Those right brains. They definitely don't get numbers some days. Okay, most days.

What the right brain does gets is -- the heart. The meaning. The relevance of what is happening here On the Roof.We are making a difference.We are being made different.

Different.

As in, being up here on the roof, even when I had to leave for a couple of hours, has created a difference in my life and in this place.

A friendly visit from CPS

As Dave (my tent mate who does snore, though he denies it) says -- "When I came here I was hired to create new fundraising strategies. I think there's a spin-off in what we did On the Roof which is surprising and really exciting. Not only did we raise money and meet new donors, but through this event there are now clients who are aware that there are people doing something different for them. And the staff are aware that there are people trying new ways to bring awareness to homelessness and to promote the DI. Through the staff who came up here to sleep, and to just sit on the roof for a few hours, this has become a real team builder. It's actually not about the fundraising, it's about the bonding. Amongst the staff and the staff and clients. Bringing us all closer together. Certainly there were clients who were aware that this was going on -- and they're talking amongst themselves about what's happening. And that's exciting and it makes possibilities open up."

Possibilities opening.

Dave's Girls
Denise, Anne, Liseanne, Christy

I feel it, sitting up here on the roof after leaving to give a speech and coming back to meet up with a reporter from CTV -- thank you Bill MacFarland -- Change is in the air. Possibilities have opened.

There are so many out there. Waiting. Opening up. Evolving. So many possibilities to be explored.Sitting up here on the roof, feeling the support of staff and clients and media and the community at large I know. We are not alone. We are all connected.

Being here has connected me to that bigger picture. That place where 'no way' is not a direction to 'not' take, it's the direction that must be taken. It is the opening into more. More of what we want in our world. What we want in our lives and in our communities. No way isn't a sign that says, Keep Out. It's a sign that says, YES! This is the way to more. This is the opening to step into possibility.

Janice catches... the rays? A cold?
the On the Roof Fever!

It's been an amazing 3 days on the roof. As we enter our last night in the tent, we are reminded -- all things are possible when we let go of the notion -- there's no way it can't work. No way it can't happen. It can. It will. It must. Happen. Simply because we know -- there's always a way when we let go of saying, No.

On Monday morning I arrived on the roof wondering it if would actually work. Could we? Would we? Stay the course?As we enter our last night in the tent I know. There was no way we couldn't. No way we wouldn't go through with it.Because going through with it is the only way to discover what it's all about.

Going through with it is the way to 'it'. That 'it' that says, yes we can because we must bring people in from the streets. We must lead the way so that people can find themselves again on this road called homeless. and in their uncovering themselves, they can find their way back home to where they belong.

Namaste.

Day 3: A little video reporting!

2011-12-07T10:16:00.001-07:00

We're branching out... into video!

Here's a live recording fresh off the video cam from inside the tent!

Reporting from On the Roof: Day 3 -- Smoke rising

2011-12-07T05:44:00.001-07:00

Smoke rises. Snow begins to fall.

It is the second morning I have noticed them... but then, this is only my second morning sleeping on the roof of the old DI -- the homeless shelter where I work. What I notice is the sound of birds. Little tweets and twitters emanating from under the roof of the loading dock which is directly below the roof where we are camped out. I noticed them yesterday. Happy little tweets that sound so out of place amidst the hum of the equipment on the roof, the traffic moving by, the voices of people on the smoke deck. The continuous noise all around the shelter located at the edge of the downtown core of Calgary.

Noise.

There's lots of it here up on the roof. And my earplugs have once again become my new best friends in the night.

I am grateful this morning for a good night's sleep. I find it surprising -- how well I've slept up here. Sure, there are intermittent moments of wakefulness, brief segments of time where I stir awake, like when my tent mate Dave gets up in the middle of the night to use the facilities.

I'm getting smarter -- in just two days! I remember to not close the pantry door through which we enter the kitchen when I get up to use the washroom during the night. The first night, I discovered the hard way that you can open the pantry door from the inside -- but not from the other side.

Nasha and Cindy by the pantry door

I'd left my access card in the tent and there I was, in the kitchen, in the night, with no power to open the door. I pondered my predicament. Laughed at myself and the circumstances -- the double doors from the kitchen to the second floor area where about 100 people were sleeping were followed by a corridor with another set of doors to navigate before opening onto the floor area where staff would be able to help me -- both sets of which were locked. And then I remembered the phone outside the kitchen office. I called down to security and was quickly released from my predicament back to the roof.

It was a better night last night. My body is becoming accustomed to the mat and the environment. I feel less exposed, less out of place.

And yes, gratitude is deepening. As is an appreciation of what people endure who really are roughing it in the night.

It is not easy.

It is not fun.

For those who really are sleeping rough, it can be a matter of life and death.

Have you found a secluded enough spot that no one will find you? No one being not just law officials looking to roust you but also -- or maybe mostly -- other people looking to do you harm and/or take what you've got.

The smoke deck in the night

Will the weather turn during the night? Will you be warm enough? What if something happens? Will anyone find you? Will anyone know what happened to you? Will anyone care?

Will anyone care. One of the toughest fears.

Who will care that I'm here?

Who will care if I'm gone?

The challenge of homelessness. Taking care of yourself even when you fear nobody cares.

I see that here a lot -- the fear that nobody cares. The fear that my life means nothing and so I may as well just keep going on the path I'm on.

And still the will to live, the human spirits drive to stay alive keeps pushing, keeps pulling people forward.

Driven by fear, drawn by courage to stay alive.

People often comment that working at a shelter must be depressing.

I always reply, no. It's one of the most inspiring places I've ever worked. Every morning, people get up. People who's lives have taken twists and turns and brought them down to places I could never imagine. Yet, every morning they get up and take another step. They continue to keep living, to keep pushing forward, no matter the circumstances of their lives.

I wonder if that courage is within me. To keep getting up no matter how far or hard life has pushed me down.

Working here has taught me so much about being human. About our shared human condition.

And more than anything, it has taught me to revere life. My life. The lives of everyone around me.

It is a sacred journey, this thing called life.

And no matter our condition, it is a journey we share.

Morning breaks. The shelter awakens and I begin my day with gratitude and awe nestling inside my heart.

May your day be filled with light and love and laughter. May you know the warmth of friendship, and feel the will of life pulling you into a day of beauty.

Namaste.

Reporting from On the Roof: Day 2 -- night falls with gratitude

2011-12-06T19:42:00.001-07:00

Some of the Angels

For the 9th year in a row, Angels in the Night arrived, yellow capes billowing, heads adorned with reindeer antlers bobbing amidst a bevy of Santa hats, smiles wide and hearts open to give what they have purchased for the clients of the shelter.

As I stood waiting in the driveway for the arrival of the Angels and their big truck a client passed me and stopped to comment on my presence off the roof. "I thought you were up there 24/7," he said laughingly.

"I've escaped!" I replied.

Genevieve delivers coffee, hot cocoa and treats

He laughed some more and then said quietly. "Wish I could."

Yeah. I wish he could too.

"Well, thanks for doing that," he said. "It means a lot." And he disappeared into the darkness beyond the shelter gates.

It's been a day filled with meaning. Clients stand on the smoke deck across from the roof and wave. Sometimes, we dance together, make arm gestures, smile and laugh and point. I walk through the second floor to stretch and clients and staff stop to chat, to ask 'how's it going on the roof'. To say, 'Thanks!' 'Good on you!' A few clients have commented on our 'luxuries'.

"You're not really sleeping rough," one said. "You don't have heaters and laptops and all that stuff."

I agreed. You don't. We're not trying to simulate the 'real' thing, I told him. We're trying to shine a light on the issue of homelessness and to raise funds for the shelter by doing something unexpected. And a little bit crazy.

Kym and Jeremiah settle into their tent

He nodded his head up and down. "Well. I gotta give you that. It is crazy."

But it doesn't feel crazy. Really. It feels... right. Like this is what we should be doing to connect with people from all walks of life about the challenges of homelessness. We're not doing this to 'be' homeless. We're doing it to get people's attention.

Years ago, while researching teen prostitution, a sergeant in the police vice squad said to me, "Louise. If you really want to understand what these girls go through, you need to go eyeball to eyeball with a john."

Jorge comes to visit

And so I did. Go eyeball to eyeball. I stood out on the street on this very same night, December 6, dressed for the part of soliciting men for sex. It wasn't easy. In fact, it was close to hellish, but in doing it, I understood better what happens on the street, what happens in the minds and spirits of our children who are exploited on our streets. I never had to get into a car with a stranger that night, but I was changed none the less. I was deeply moved and humbled by the experience.

And that's what being on the roof has done -- touched and moved and humbled me. It's helped me see more clearly and to be more grateful for the options I have in my life as opposed to the limited options available to someone when they are experiencing homelessness. It has filled me with gratitude.

Earlier today, while looking for a client to talk to a reporter who had come to put together a piece for the Calgary Herald Christmas Fund on our Medical Clinic and services, I spoke with a client who has been an integral member of the art.works program I started almost six years ago when I joined the DI. After we chatted he sent me an email of a song he's recorded.

Dave

Hi, Louise, he wrote.

With so much going on, I have to thank you for showing methe path of stripping away everything that really doesn't matter.

I arranged this in Sybellius, thinking ,"How much moredoes this really need?"

Thinking of you on the roof.

Shelter, some kind of warmth, food and friends.

There are a lot of people in this world that have a lotless.

I am grateful for his words and his kindness. I am grateful for his presence on my journey and the presence of so many others like him. Gentle spirits for whom life has delivered a tough hand. People, like you and me, who cope as best they can with what life presents and who, no matter how challenging their circumstances, reach out to others with kindness, caring and words of support.

I am grateful.

Louise and the boys

In particular, right now as the temperature dips and snow is forecast, I am grateful for the heater Alan Facey, our Director of Administration brought especially for the occasion. "Here," he said. "This one should be safer and give off better heat."

And he's right, but even with heaters and electricity and staff popping in with gifts of coffees and treats, being on the roof isn't a walk in the park -- it is however, a good place to be. Here we have built community, a sense of purpose. A place to gather. To be together. To be of one voice.

Storm clouds gather

Throughout the day people, mostly staff, come to visit. Some come to just hang out for a bit, lending their energy and smiles. Natalie and Mark bring morning coffee from Starbucks. Alan brings a heater. Genevieve arrives mid-afternoon with tea, treats and hot chocolate and Jorge and Rufo drop in for a few hours, complete with a movie on a laptop, which we all four watched together. Go figure. Me and three men in a tent designed for two. Now that's living the high life!

In our neighbour's tent, Kym and Jer watched movies and fell asleep -- they both worked the night shift last night and had been up 24 hours. Now that's commitment. Hats off to both of them. No wait! It's cold out there. I'm not taking my hat off -- kudos it is. Kudos and a plague Reg Knelsen created for all of us. And a painting he's donated to the cause. The plan is to auction it off online. Not sure how that will work, but it's a very generous offer from a man who's lived the life called 'homeless' and who's forever grateful for the help he received in moving beyond the shelter doors.

Reg's painting

And then, the Angels arrived, laughing, arms wide, hugs abounding, their truck filled with donations. Boots and hats and mitts and blankets and socks and lip balm and the necessities to help clients survive the winter.

We are grateful.

It is the theme of this time on the roof. Gratitude.

For this place called the DI. The people who live and work and come to support all we do.

For my life. For family, friends, co-workers. C.C. My home. My abundance.

I am grateful.

For all of you. My online community of support.

I am grateful.

Reporting from On the Roof: Day 2 - midday

2011-12-06T13:15:00.001-07:00

Good Morning Leah

I am sitting in the tent. Outside, the wind is blowing. Hard. It feels... scary and in that scariest a splash of excitement. This is life!

A client said to me yesterday, "Louise, you're doing this all wrong. If you're going to sleep out, you don't want to be on the roof. Roof's are windy and exposed. You want to find yourself some cozy nook in the trees, tucked out of site, out of view. It's warmer that way."

I laughed. I couldn't agree more. But our sleeping out is with a difference. We're not trying to be invisible. We want to be seen. To be noticed. To be heard. We want to draw people's attention to what we're doing so that together, we can change the face of homelessness on our streets. Together, we can make a difference.

Outside the tent I hear our new rooftop flat mates securing things. Kym Grozell and Jeremiah McKenna work on the night shift. They've given their next 24 hours off to come up and pitch in with our tent in On the Roof. Leah Ritco, a member of our medical team, and Heather Kennedy, who sits on our board of directors, have both left to in Leah's case for a client health management meeting and Heather to fly up to Fort McMurray for a meeting.

Kym and Jeremiah catching a few rays

Outside, I hear a squeal of delight from Kym. She just got an email from her cousins reporting a successful shopping mission. For the shelter. 24 pair of socks, 10 toques, 10 scarves and 10 pair of winter gloves, all for the shelter. Thank you Wanda and Sandy!

And thank you everyone who has donated thus far. Over $15,000 has been raised -- halfway to our $30,000 goal.

Not bad for a day and a half!

And we are grateful.

Just as the former client who phoned me this morning was grateful. "Hey Louise," he said. "I heard what you're doing. That's so fantastic. Thank you!"

And the man who stopped me on the second floor to ask me if I really was, 'sleeping on the roof'.

"Yes," I replied.

Leah and Dave enjoy a visit with Natalie who
dropped in with Starbucks for everyone

He shook his head. "You're crazy. But thanks for doing it. People need to know more about this place. They need to know people's lives are saved here everyday."

And I am grateful.

This is an amazing place. Filled with people and stories. Sure. Sometimes, they're not all that pretty -- but then, who's life is picture perfect. These lives are real and in their reality, the world is a place that hasn't always been all that welcoming. All that forgiving. All that kind.

And if in what we are doing we say, We see you. we care. You are important to us. Then we are doing good. Real good.

Donations can be made online at www.thedi.ca thanks! -- donations of socks and mitts and toques are welcome too! :)

Isabel models her pink long johns
while John looks on

Daniel and Cirtbir pop their heads in and
hand out candy canes

Reporting from the Roof: Morning. Day 2

2011-12-06T06:11:00.001-07:00

Night outside our tent flap

I have a new friend. Two of them actually. Tiny. Spongy. Bright orange. Earplugs are the greatest!

I didn't think of getting a pair until well into the night. After 'lights' out around 9 when we four had bunked down into two separate tents. After Chad, a staff member brought up hot chocolate and cookies for the roof inhabitants. And after being startled awake just before 11 by loud crashing and banging somewhere in the night.

I had to get up and explore. We were all wondering, what the hell was that? and nobody else was moving.

The light outside the kitchen door

I crawled out of the tent. Put on my boots and explored. The source of the noise was easily discernible. Behind the building on which we are camped out is a large fenced in area where construction machines and materials are stored by the City. For some reason, two workers thought it would be a grand idea to unload a truck load of broken up concrete into a big metal garbage bin... at 11 at night.

I stood on the roof and watched them and wished I had a megaphone. Wouldn't they have been surprised! But I didn't so I watched in silence and then reported back to my tent mates. Leah, who works with our medical team suggested I radio down to staff for a pair of earplugs.

"Do you want some too?" I asked.

Two voices piped up from their tent in unison. "Yes. Please!"

But the radio battery was dead so I went in search of earplugs. And a new battery for the radio.

The shelter is different at night. Quieter. Surreal almost. Lights are dimmed. Voices hushed. People are bunked down, some trying to sleep. Some watching television. Some reading. Some just sitting huddled over a mug of coffee, a laptop, a radio. The doors are always open for people to come and go throughout the night, the second floor smoke deck lights always on.

I enter the building through the kitchen door that has been left unlocked, just for us. And I think of the number of homes where doors are left unlocked, porch lights left on in anticipation of someone coming back in the night. In the hope that the one who has left will return to the kitchen, and the hearts that miss them and find their place at the family table again.

At eleven pm, the kitchen is quiet. Lights dimmed. I slip out through the door leading into the large day area of the second floor where normally, during daylight hours, tables are set up with four chairs each and clients sit reading, watching TV, playing cards or chatting with eachother or staff or any of the over 60 volunteers who come in each day to help serve meals. Three meals a day. Two snacks. 3500 servings of food a day.

At night, during winter, the tables are pushed back or lined up to form a barrier to keep the 'women's sleeping quarters' separate from the men's. Blue mats line the floor. Half are occupied. The other's await people coming in from the cold as they inevitably will do throughout the night.

I see a couple of people I know. Smile. We pantomime hello. People are sleeping. We don't want to disturb them.

I head down the stairs to the first floor, into the lobby where during the day there are always people milling about. At night, the area is empty, until I push through the doors into the security area by the front doors where a crowd of people stand milling about the doors to Intox.

Intox is a large room where individuals under the influence of drugs or alcohol sleep each night. Linear rows of blue mats line the room. Laid out, head to head, a foot apart with enough room between each mat for staff to walk to check on people throughout the night. All 200 mats are full. Bodies lay curled up, face down, face up, sprawled out.

It is quiet when I walk in and ask for the earplugs. Lights are dimmed. I don't know a lot of the night staff. I'm usually gone or not yet in when they're at work. Their shifts begin between 9 and 10pm, end at 7. While I sleep, they are busy taking care of people.

Rush hour begins

It is important work they do.

Someone asked me recently about the number of people we sleep under the influence. "Aren't you enabling them?" they asked.

"Yes," I replied. "We enable them to stay alive. And that is more important than anything else. Because as long as they're alive, there is hope."

Dawn breaks in the east

And while it can be heart-breaking to think about so many people lost to addictions sleeping another one off another night in a row, not one of us has the right to judge. We only have the capacity to do. To take care of human beings in need.

I am reminded of the importance of what we do as I walk through the sleeping building. I am reminded of the imperative of caring for those who have lost their way on the road of life and have come through our doors seeking shelter.

And as I head back up to the roof and crawl into my tent, I am grateful for this night. This opportunity to be of service.

I can't change the world. I can't change another person's life. But I can change how I look at what is happening in the world around me. I can change what I do, how I see the darkness and the light, the sadness and the brokenness. And no matter what is happening around me, I can soften my heart and look through eyes of love.

I shared a night on the roof of the shelter with Dave and Leah and Heather. We laughed and joked, told stories and teased each other. We huddled together in one tent until it was time to go to bed. We were a team. A group of people committed to making a difference together. We were a family.

We were not alone up there on the roof. We were part of a larger group of people who work and volunteer and live here at the DI. Connected to the world out there, to those who also work and volunteer and live in shelters around the country, waiting for that moment in time when they can slip through the unlocked kitchen door and return home to the hearts that love them.

In our sleeping on the roof, I find myself connected to the reason why it is so important we keep doing what we are doing to provide a safe haven for those who are lost on our streets -- this is their way home. This is the door back to the kitchens, and the people they love and who love them.

We are all connected through the threads of our humanity that link us all, no matter our condition. And in our humanity, we must care for eachother, no matter our state of being.

Reporting from On the Roof: Day 1 - Night falls

2011-12-05T20:21:00.001-07:00

Nigh fall in the city.

Night is settling in and we are bunking down for the night.

The wind continues to blow -- forecast for tomorrow is a Chinook is blowing in with winds of 60 to 100 Km an hour. Could be an interesting day on the roof.

It's been a good day. Lots of giggles and laughter. Christa, Dave and I shared the tent for most of the day with Heather and then Leah joining us for the night after Christa vacated. Dinner of ribs and salad from the DI kitchen was excellent and now, we're in our separate tents, two per tent. The plan had been to have six people on the roof overnight with four new each night, but, Plan B is two tents, not one large six man tent and so, we've had to juggle.

Night view from the roof

From putting up fencing to ensure no one falls off the roof to putting up the tent in fierce winds, it's been a day of experiments and experiences in 'roughing it'.

It's been a good day.

And it's only 8:22pm and I'm going to tuck in for the night. Got my long johns and my hat on. Sleeping bag awaits. We're not too deprived... we've got electricity which means, we've also got a small space heater. Just enough to take the edge of the chill.

Up here on the roof, life takes on a different rhythm. Technology keeps me connected, but without the constant ringing of phones and interruptions, there's a slowing down, a slower pace to life. Haven't had a lot of time to actually think -- but I have had a lot of time to actually just not do. And that is refreshing.

I've discovered a couple of things... 1. Social media can eat up an entire day! 2. Social media connects people and events, it builds bridges, it creates openings. Social media rocks -- even on a roof! Or perhaps that should be, especially on the roof!

With the media we've received today, and the support of social media folk, we've had significant funds rolling in. We've raised over $15,000 and we're not even halfway through yet! I am in awe of how people turn up and lend a hand, pitch in, make a difference. Awesome!

Dave and I are sharing a tent. He's already snuggled into his sleeping bag, flashlight, radio and cellphone handy. The radio is two-way -- part of our communications system at the shelter. It's in case of emergency.

Time to call it a night.

Sleep tight. I'll be back in the am with tales of sleeping on high -- or not :).

On the Roof -- Interview with Heather Kennedy

2011-12-05T17:49:00.001-07:00

Board Member Heather Kennedy has joined us on the roof for the night. Here's what she has to say about it all!

Reporting from On the Roof: Monday Afternoon

2011-12-05T15:50:00.001-07:00

Louise and her laptop

It's an interesting place. Sitting up here on the roof. The wind blowing the canvas. Hearing the traffic pass by. Sirens. Trucks gearing up, or down, or braking. Voices of people calling out, somewhere below 'urban sounds' as Christa, one of my tent mates calls it.

Dave sleepily nods his head when he hears her description. Yeah. Whatever. And his book falls onto his chest and his eyes close and for a moment he is lost to the world beneath the dome of a tent situated 30ft above the road, tucked into a corner of the roof of the old DI, the original shelter at this location which was no longer needed as a night shelter when the new building opened in September 2001.

"It's kinda like we're on Everest," he says, sitting up suddenly. "Outside, the wind howls, snow is blowing off the summit and we're waiting for a break in the weather to tackle the summit."
Louise and her laptop in the tent.

Two Tents on the Roof

Actually, we were hoping for a break in the weather to be able to erect the large six man tent, Camper's Village loaned us for the event. No such luck and in the end, we erect another domed tent so that those of us committed to spending the night have a place to come in from the cold. Sure, we could go inside, but that would defeat the purpose of being on the roof. And so, on the roof we sit.

It's been a good day. Lots of visitors. Media dropping by. People coming to say hello, check out our digs. We're laughing and smiling. From behind the glass of the covered smoke deck on the second floor of the DI, clients wave and laugh. They motion with their hands, spinning in circles, as if to suggest, 'are you crazy'? I laugh and wave. Even do a little dance. Jumping Jacks. And then, I head back into the tent.

Bill and Nadine taking in the afternoon... chill

It's not all bad. We've got a space heater going. The kitchen team bring us hot tea and chocolate. A staff member drops off bottled water and a bag of salted nuts -- not sure if there was a suggestion of insanity in the nuts -- but the gift is very appreciated.

For the three of us who have spent the day together, tucked inside a tent, it's been a good day of getting to know each other, sharing in a unique experience, sharing laughter and smiles.

It's been a good day. Sun is beginning to set. The wind continues to blow. And we continue to raise awareness and funds for homelessness and the DI. Over $13,000 and counting. Thanks everyone who's contributed and tweeted and Facebooked and done whatever you can to increase the reach of our event. You rock!

Max waves from the smoke deck as Dave is interviewed by NUTV

Exec. Dir Debbie Newman &
Pres of Board Andy Lockhart check out the digs

Reporting from On the Roof. Off the Street.

2011-12-05T11:29:00.001-07:00

So.... breaking news from the roof. Here are some of the photos we've taken thus far.

The plan was to erect a big 16' x 14' foot tent but the winds are tricky today so PLAN B -- small tent we put up the other day is still standing and we're now in it, snug as bugs. We'll be putting up another small tent as we have other people booked to come and join us later in the day.

There's a sign clients have put up on the window of the smoke deck on the second floor -- cheering us on!

A client phoned to offer a bag of bottles as a donation to the cause.

Seriously... how amazing is this? Dave got a donation online as he was being filmed by CTV. Jorge delivered hot chocolate for my tent mates, Christa and Dave, and a tea for me.

The tent site

Christa getting ready to go inside the tent for the day

Christa Tweeting

Dave on the phone raising donations

Darrin from CTV drops in for a visit

Interview with Dave -- the brains behind On the Roof. Off the Street

Don drops off a pair of mitts for Louise

(her's have already mysteriously disappeared into the bowels of the tent! -

maybe the tent is a clothes dryer in disguise?)

Leah takes time out from her shift in the medical office to say hello

She'll be back at 6 to spend the night.

On The Roof. Off the Street.

2011-12-05T05:29:00.001-07:00

I awoke at 4. Way too early. Go back to sleep. Go back to sleep. You are feeling sleepy now. Sleepy.

No I'm not.

Yes you are. Go back to sleep. Sleeeepy....

Nope. Not gonna' happen.

By 4:30 I give up the fight and turn on the light. I'm awake, may as well get up. Marley, the Great Cat, is excited. Will you feed me now? Please? His stomach obviously doesn't have a circadian clock. Unlike Ellie, the Wonder Pooch, who continues to sleep -- though she did move from her mat at the end of the bed onto the bed while I was in the kitchen making coffee.

Big day today. I'm heading for the roof of the homeless shelter where I work for 72 hours of 'camping out'. -- not the big building that opened in 2001 roof, but the 'old building', the two story shelter that until 2001 housed 140 people a night. The old building is now the Clothing Centre -- donations of clothing and small household items are sorted and put on display in the 'store' for people to come in and take away what they need. It also houses the Computer Centre -- an Internet cafe where anyone can come in and use one of 16 computers for free, learn how to operate various programs like Word, email, web browser, build websites, write resumes, do job searches etc., and it's the Senior's Centre -- a day area room where those over 50 (senior status begins at 50 in this sector as homelessness ages you 10 to 15 years faster) can sit in a quieter environment than the main shelter and watch TV, play cards, chat, read, etc.

We're pitching our tent at 9am, (On the Roof. Off the Street) setting up camp and settling in for three days of bringing awareness to the challenges of homelessness, and to raise funds for the shelter where I work. At least, will be working until the end of the year when I say good-bye and move on to new adventures.

That's the thing about homelessness. It's draining.

Having spent almost 6 years working there, I need space to recoup, to catch my breath, to reassess what I'm doing and how I want to be in this world. I need to see the world beyond homelessness to bring light into the darkness of the homeless world I've been inhabiting since I joined the amazing team in 2006.

And that's the advantage of not being homeless. I have choices.

See, nobody dreams of being homeless, and everyone dreams of going back home one day.

Challenge is, in the choices that led you to that place you never dreamt of being, options become limited, exit signs fade and hope wanes of ever getting back to where you once believed you would be in your life. As you journey further and further from where you once were you begin to accept where you're at is where you belong. And in that acceptance, you believe, there's nothing you can do, nothing that can be done to change the circumstances of your life. This is what you deserve.

Nobody deserves to be 'homeless'. Just as nobody deserves to be abused, or an addict, or mentally ill, or beaten, or any host of social ills that impact our neighbours every day of the year. These are conditions of our human existence that should never become life sentences. And yet, for the thousands of people suffering that thing called, homeless, when you're in it, it can feel like a life sentence. It can feel like it will never be any different.

Hope is a tough commodity to hold onto when everything in your life is gone. Dignity is scarce. Pride practically non-existent.

And yet, to move beyond the quagmire of a homeless state of being, hope, dignity, pride are essential.

I'm heading to the roof today to support those for whom hope, dignity and pride are scarce. I'm heading to the roof to do my bit in making a difference.

And while I'm up there, my intention is to speak up, call out! It's all about drawing attention to the fact -- nobody dreams of being homeless. And while we can't change what drove someone into homelessness, we can shift our perceptions and change our attitudes around those experiencing being homeless. And we can all do something to keep the dream of going back home alive.

You're invited to come along. There's lots you can do to support the cause.

You can click here to find out more.
You can share this on Twitter (#ontheroof) or Facebook.
You can keep coming back here this week to read of my adventures on the roof.
You can come up and visit us On the Roof. Off the Street -- you'll have to be in Calgary to visit in person. We're at the Calgary Drop-In & Rehab Centre (DI) 1 Dermot Baldwin Way SE :)
And... you can pray for warm weather. It snowed like crazy over the weekend -- which was not forecast -- so I'm hoping the meteorologists are right in predicting temperate climes at least for the next day! And then they predict deep freeze -- which is when I hope they're wrong! :)

Thanks everyone! See you On the Roof!

Fitting into Occupied Space

2011-12-04T19:18:00.001-07:00

Lunch, George Tooker, 1964, Columbus Museum of Art

Fitting into Occupied Space

There is

no place that fits

when every place you go

has a sign

Occupied

and men in grey suits

named Frank

and Jack

and maybe Alfonso

sit sipping

cups

of Joe

hiding eyes

covertly
and not so subtly
looking you

and down

You can take ‘em down

drown ‘em out

sippin' your cuppa Joe

you can roar

and you can holler

but you will never

live down

being occupied

in some man's place

where you do not fit

their definition

of how you don't fit

where you belong.

This poem is inspired by Maureen over at Writing Without Paper. She wrote a fabulous poem, This Seat Occupied, in response to today's photographic prompt (see image above) at Magpie Tales. Join in by writing your own poem or flash fiction, using as inspiration the photo provided, then go here to add your link and read the other participants' contributions.

In Maureen's response she writes how Tooker's 'Lunch' "subtly calls to mind the lunch-counter sit-ins and race discrimination protests of the 1960s. Note the body language, who stands out, the social commentary implied by the white bread-eating diners."

Thanks Maureen and Magpie Tales for the inspiration.

An Advent Prayer: Let Peace Become Us.

2011-12-04T07:04:00.001-07:00

I wait in the quiet of dawn suspended behind the darkness of night. Snow blankets the world outside my window. I wait.

He is coming, they sing. His birth heralded around the world by shepherds watching and three Kings drawing near. Angels we have heard on high.

He is coming.

And the world waits. It waits for a child to be born of Mary. A child for whom good tidings will ring across the land. Hail Mary full of grace. Your time draws near.

Draw near. Draw nearer my heart and let its beat call you into this song of hope. Sing loud this song of peace for all mankind.

Sing loud. Rejoice. Rejoice O Israel. To thee shall come Emmanuel.

Come. Come into my heart and let joy to the world resound with every breath. Let joy become me.

Joy to the world. He is coming.

Let us rejoice.

Believer or non-believer, Christian, Buddhist, Jew or Muslim. No matter our faith, let us rejoice in this prayer for hope, peace, love and joy in our world.

Let peace become us.

Let there be peace among us.

Let there be peace.

Audio Recording of An Advent Prayer: Let Peace Become Us.

Audio Recording on Sunday morning An Advent Prayer by Louiseg88

RSAnimate and CHOICE

2011-12-03T07:44:00.001-07:00

Saturday morning. Sun is beginning to rise above the night. Coffee is beginning to flow. I am awakening.

I have the choice to choose how I experience the day. I choose happiness and am comforted by the knowing, I can't choose what happens in the world today, I can choose how I respond and/or react.

Here's a Saturday video worth watching on Choice from one of my favourite sites: RSAnimate.

Ripples of Love

2011-12-02T06:27:00.001-07:00

My process for writing this blog every morning usually begins as I awaken. Tendrils of thoughts drift through my mind, escaping into wakefulness. I touch one, and for a moment, it materializes, gains substance as it connects to some deeper, subconscious knowing that yearns for awakening. And then I open my eyes, progress through my morning rituals of bringing the paper in, coffee making, mediating, etc.

This morning, a thought flit through my mind with the delicacy of a wisp of smoke spiraling up from a snuffed out candle. "That wasn't a relationship that almost killed you Louise. It was a relationship that set your free."

I like the context, the shifting of the story from the dark side of the continuum of my life to the light.

And as I meditate my mind quietens and, as always happens, no matter how quiet my mind, a thought emerges of why that comment is so important. The gifts of that relationship far outweigh the pain. When I let go of thinking of it as a burden, or hardship, or trauma endured, it has room to evolve into a gift in the light of Love.

Yes, at the time it was happening, it was all those things awful that hurt me and the ones I love. But today, it is just moments in time long passed away. Today, I hold onto the beauty of what I learned, of how I've embraced the wonder of me, in all my dimensions, to love Beauty and the Beast, warts and all.

When I was in that relationship I tried a few times to end it. Once, I went to the police to tell them what happened and to seek help. I've never been one to want to get even with others and when told that there were, at that time, no grounds for the law to step in, I walked away, defeated. But one thing the officer said to me stuck, even though at the time, I could not see or hear or feel its truth. "This isn't love. Love doesn't hurt like this." he said after I told him some of the frightening things that had been happening.

It was that detectives comment which would sustain me after Conrad was arrested. After I got the miracle of my life and was set free. I would remind myself -- What he did wasn't love. Love never hurts. And what he did hurt.

When giving talks to people on homelessness, especially emergency responders or social service workers, I always tell them, "You never know how what you do or what you say will impact someone. We can't know when they will hear our voice, or remember our touch or how we treated them. And so, it's important to always be kind. For that kindness will resonate and one day, your kindness may be the thing that connects the person back to their humanity away from homelessness."

We never know the impact of what we do or say -- unless someone tells us.

Yesterday, a staff member took me aside to tell me how knowing me has affected him. When he approached to ask if I'd take a moment to chat with him, I was a little worried. He looked very, very serious and I wondered... what did I do wrong -- don't you just love that child's voice? She lives within me, popping up to remind me -- I gotta let go of the past! It does not serve me well today.

I walked down a hallway to a quiet corner where the staff member turned and faced me and proceeded to tell me how I've changed his life for the better.

He made me cry -- in a good way. He touched my heart. I felt grace descend and in that moment remembered -- We never know the impact of what we do or say. To create ripples of grace, be grace in all things, all matters, all ways.

Last week, at a meeting, a man from another agency asked me, "What's one thing you'll take away from the shelter?"

I smiled and replied effortlessly, "The knowing that being there has made me a better human being."

Being there has given me the gift of grace. It has opened me up to my humanity, to what it is that connects me to all human beings. It has touched me in profound and stunning ways, in ways I never imagined. Being there has allowed me to become all I am and to love all I am -- Beauty and the Beast, warts and all -- no matter my condition.

I don't know why that's happened. Or how. But that is what has happened for me. In learning to love others exactly where they're at, no matter their condition, I have learned to love myself, no matter where I'm at, no matter my condition.

I have learned to give myself the gift of forgiveness. The grace of acceptance. The embrace of Love.

And in those moments when I act less than all I am, to breathe and let my heart soften with the words, "Bless them. Forgive me."

I am grateful.

We never know the impact of what we do or say. We never know how our words or deeds will resonate with another.

When we speak and act with the intent to create better, our ripple shimmers in the light flowing from our hearts, touching the world in Love.

May your day be filled with ripples of love flowing all around.

Namaste.

An excess of Christmas

2011-12-01T06:12:00.001-07:00

I joined my youngest daughter last evening at 'Twas the Night' at a downtown mall. Chantal Kreviazak sang, a giant Christmas tree was lit and stores were filled with holiday specials including wine and beer and appetizers in the more upscale premises. It was fun to spend the time with my daughter -- I actually did some Christmas shopping which for me is unheard of in November -- I really am a 'wait until I have to do it because there's little time left to do it in' kind of shopper.

We wandered the stores and levels of the mall, people scurried by arms laden with parcels, servers walked past proffering trays of savories and treats, a jazz trio played Christmas favourites and other seasonal selections, and all around lights and bows and crinkly decorations twinkled in the night. It was a fund-raiser for the United Way of Calgary BeCause initiative and given the challenge of finding a parking spot, the line-ups at the cashiers and the number of bags every shopper carried, it must have been a huge success.

I loved spending the time with my daughter. Loved watching her try on this and then that and asking, "Aren't you supposed to be buying for others?" and receiving her response, "I deserve gifts too!" to which I replied (everytime) "Oh goodie. Then if you're buying your own gifts I don't have to buy you anything..." I smile. She pouts. We both laugh.

And when we were finished, we bid each other goodnight with a hug, a kiss and a heartfelt, I love you. I walked back to my car and waited while a group of women searched for their tickets to the event so that they could enjoy their free parking. I never did get my ticket from my daughter. I'd paid her for it but she'd arrived earlier than me as she was volunteering for the first three hours of the event. When I arrived, I stood by the entrance, talking to her on my cellphone, giving her directions as to which entrance to find me at. The woman taking tickets for the evening heard me tell Liseanne, "Just bring my ticket to the door," and waved me through. "Not a problem," she said. "You can just go through." First mission accomplished. I did buy a ticket. My daughter didn't want to come to the other end of the mall to give it to me. I did speak loudly enough for the woman at the entrance to hear me. I did get in without said ticket! :)

And in the end, I paid the $2 or a Toonie as it's called here in Canada, for my parking and felt it was money well spent. Though if the other women hadn't decided to pay the Toonie too, I might still be standing by the parking machine as they searched for their tickets amidst all the paraphernalia they were carrying!

I drove home and I looked up into the deep inky sky of night and witnessed the crescent moon spilling light upon the darkness. It was so beautiful it took my breath away. I envisioned the Universe cradling her baby in her arms, I felt myself rocked in the womb of creation.

And that's when the tears came. I feel hung-over this morning, saddened -- and I only had half a glass of Prosecco!

There was so much activity last night. So much excess.

Don't get me wrong. I love spending time with my daughters and wandering through stores is one of our favourite ways to spend time together. We laugh and giggle over feather vests that truly are ridiculous and ten inch spike heels that truly are insane. We chortle over who looks funniest in that hat or those glasses, and who can dance the craziest in public just for the fun of it (I always win I might add).

But the commercialization of Christmas has gotten to me. It was there last night. In every festive ball and bow, in every twinkling light, in every carol note. Even the tree got 'super-sized', it's lighting ceremony heralded as the lighting of the tallest Christmas tree in Canada. And it isn't even a real one. It's artificial.

It is time for me to take the buying out of Christmas and put the heart back in its place.

It is time to stop the excess as I sink into the abundance of what I have.

And it is time to quit worrying about what am I going to 'get' the one's I love and put my focus on what I have to give. For in giving what I have, I receive.

And what I have is what I want to share the most. Peace. Hope. Love and Joy.

There they are again. Those four words of Advent.

I am meditating on Peace this week. I didn't find much of it last night. It wasn't that it wasn't there. It's just that I wasn't focused on what was important for my heart to feel it. I was busy buying up 50% off and buy one get one free. I was immersed in the excess.

And in that immersion I find myself searching for the heart of what ails me. In the excess, in the artificial tree and singing voices, there is something to hold onto. There is the reality that buying special things for people I love is fun when I take the 'I'm doing this because it's Christmas' out of the equation and focus on three simple words, "I love you." And I don't need stuff to express my Love.

There are many gifts in living the traditions we have created around this special time of year, and they don't all have to be bought. In those gifts, is the truth for me -- It is not in the buying I receive, it's in the giving. And when I give with my heart filled with love, I receive that which I give, that which I want most in the world, Peace. Hope. Love and Joy.

Namaste.

Christmas is Family

2011-11-30T05:30:00.000-07:00

I worry for a bit about asking the question. I worry people might think I'm being obtuse, or insensitive. I mean, the people I'm asking live in a homeless shelter. What do I think Christmas means to them?

I don't know. And so, I ask.

I find Tony sitting at a table on our second floor Day Area. His table companion has his head down, resting on folded arms. Asleep, he doesn't stir when I sit down and begin to chat with Tony.

I ask him my question. "What does Christmas mean to you?"

He doesn't hesitate. Doesn't stop to think. His answer is spontaneous. A big smile spreading across his face as he says, "Time with family. Sharing."

And he tells me about the first Christmas he spent in Canada. He'd come with his mother and three siblings from Jamaica when he was four. He laughs at the memory. "I was scared of snow man. I mean scared. But, I was the most inquisitive of my family. I wanted to taste that white fluffy stuff, even in my fear, so I ran outside and tried to catch me some. That didn't work too well so I picked up a handful and licked it. Man. I didn't know I needed to put mittens on!" He pauses. Looks me in the eye. Smiles. "Sure glad it wasn't yellow."

I laugh. And Tony continues on.

"I think Christmas is about shared memories. About cooking together and sharing a meal and laughing. Oh yes, laughing. When I was a kid my mom had a friend, Miss Wolf. She never had kids so she adopted us as her family. She loved me and I loved her and when I think of Christmas I think of Miss Wolf and how generous and kind she was."

He looks around at the people sitting at tables, reading, playing cards, resting their heads on their arms. Beside us a young man sits at a table with three young women. Somebody says something he doesn't like, and he begins to curse and swear, loudly. He gets up. Thumps the table. Walks off. One of the girls runs after him. "Jase. Jase," she calls. "Nobody meant no disrespect." And he comes back and sits down.

The tableau unfolds beside us and Tony keeps talking, ignoring the commotion, the language, the furor. "You gotta block that stuff out," he tells me before I even mention anything. "You know, being here doesn't take away who I am as a human being. Nothing can do that unless I let it." He pauses again. Looks around. "And I won't let this place do that."

"I can't remember a time when I wasn't friendly. I think coming to Canada so young, being the youngest, I didn't know I was different. And in my home, my mother made everyone welcome. So, I just always assumed that's the way the world is."

I thank him for sharing his story and move on to ask someone else. I want a balanced perspective. Not just clients, but volunteers and staff too. I ask, Andy, a long-time volunteer who is getting ready to end his shift for the day. "I don't know," he tells me when I ask him my question as he unloads his wallet and keys and phone from his locker in the Volunteer Office. "I'm single and I think Christmas is meant for families. For kids. I love the laughter of kids at Christmas."

And we talk and he throw in tidbits of information like a gambler feeding a slot machine. "I don't really like to think about Christmas," he says. "It's a tough time." And a little later. "My mother died on Christmas Day five years ago. I was her caretaker for those last months and I couldn't come here to volunteer. Didn't want to compromise her already compromised immune system." And he shrugs his shoulders. "Yeah, I don't really like Christmas. But if I did, it would always be about family."

I thank him for his honesty and for sharing his spirit so generously. He closes the locker door, dons his jacket. "I don't work," he tells me as he tucks wallet and phone into a pocket of his jeans. "I took a sabbatical and now I just volunteer and travel and ski and," he stops and nods his head. Up and down. "Yeah. Christmas is about family. Gotta go." And in a flash he's out the door of the volunteer office where I've encountered him.

I walk back onto the second floor Day Area and ask Johnnie, a front line staff what Christmas means to him. "It's about the birth of Christ," he says. "That's it."

"What does Christmas at the shelter mean?" I ask.

He sighs. "You know, it can be a bad time for people here. Christmas is all about family and most of these people have been rejected by their families or they're too embarrassed to go home. You can feel it in the air almost. How they miss the people they love." He laughs. It's gentle. Not at all harsh. "This place is pretty mellow and quiet around Christmas," he adds. "Too many lonely people struggling to make the best of a situation that's pretty hard to live with."

Another staff member, Al, is more pragmatic. "It means one year is gone and next year could be better."

Jack wanders past and stops to listen. He's drifted in and out of homelessness for much of his adult life. He's just got a full time job and is hoping to be gone from the shelter by Christmas. He tells me this with great enthusiasm as though the miracle of a job will fix everything. I pray he's right. He's been here before but his gambling addiction keeps bringing him back. Perhaps one woman, a relatively new client to the shelter had it right when she said, "Christmas is a time of perpetual hope. Doesn't matter if you're living in a shelter or where you are, Christmas is about hope."

Jack finishes telling me about his job and asks what I'm doing on the second floor. "I'm asking people what Christmas means to them," I tell him.

His reply is quick and easy. "It's about family." And then he laughs. "You know, burying the hatchet and all of that."

And others agree, though one volunteer has a different slant on the relevance of 'family time' at Christmas. "It's about avoiding family at all costs," she says laughingly. "I think it's why I like it here so much," she adds. "I don't like getting gifts. I like giving. And I really like knowing that here, i can help people feel loved, not neglected."

And people keep coming up to share. "It's all about family." "Being with the one's you love." "Oh, it's about children. Their laughter." And other's agree. "Oh yeah. There's nothing better than little kid's laughter at Christmas."

I see the theme. Feel it. Sense it with my being. It is all around. Permeating the air. Christmas is about family. And when far from the one's you love, you make a family with the one's you're with, no matter your circumstances or condition. "We gotta share whatever we've got," says Barb. A tiny birdlike woman, her journey through homelessness and living on the streets has produced three kids she's extremely proud of but whom she seldom sees. "I'm just too messed up for them to be near," she says. "They deserve better."

"I'm hoping to see them at Christmas," she adds. "I just became a great-grandmother. I'm hoping to see my great-granddaughter soon."

I wish her well. She calls over to a friend. "Lorraine! You gotta come answer Louise's question."

As a tall native woman approaches, Barb turns back to me. "Can I have a hug?"

"Of course," I reply. And we hug and I know. The truth is there between us. No matter our condition. The depth of our faith. The substance of our wallets or the colour of our skin. No matter if it's a carpenter and his pregnant wife seeking refuge in a stable or a homeless man seeking a bed in a shelter, Christmas reminds us, we are all connected. We are all family.

.

Dancing Priest: Glynn Young's first novel

2011-11-29T06:47:00.001-07:00

I got lost last night. Lost in the pages of a book turning one by one with a story unfolding before my eyes. Okay, so I don't know if I can get lost in the pages of a book when that book is on my Kindle on my iPad.

But lost I got.

Reading.

I had to read the whole thing. I couldn't stop. The story kept pulling me on. In. Into the lives of two people who's journeys intersected, separated, intersected, separated. And no. I'm not going to tell you which direction they ended up in.

You'll have to read it all for yourself.

It's only available on Kindle until December when the paper back comes out.

You must get it. Seriously. That's a must.

If only because it is the celebration of Glynn Young. That's right. Glynn of Faith. Fiction. Friends. has had his first novel published and it's a good read. A read that keeps pulling you in and along on the flow of a story of two people who meet in University and for whom a difference in faith keeps them apart. Until as one of the characters says (and no, I'm not telling you which one) "God was chasing me down, and God got me."

Reading Dancing Priest by Glynn Young I felt like a voyeur. It felt kind of uncomfortable at times because I was inside the heart of someone struggling with faith and I was seeing too much of my own heart reflected back. Of my own disbelief, my own insecurity around faith and God and being Christian and not wanting to be Christian and not wanting to believe and not wanting to 'Let go and Let God.'

Dancing Priest is a good read. And last night, I got lost in the story of Michael and Sarah and found myself in Love.

I'm glad I did. It touched my heart. It made me smile and laugh and cry and it made me grateful for an evening of quiet -- not to mention it gave me an excuse not to do some of the chores I had intended to do :) -- and I'm always up for a good excuse to not do chores!

Instead of chores I was gifted with an evening of beauty. An evening to explore a story told in delicate dialogue that revealed more than just the goings on of the lives of two characters -- it revealed their hearts and ultimately, their faith.

It was a beautiful thing to see.

And as to the author. Wow! What a gift.

As the book was coming into its publication date, Glynn shared a few posts on how he came to write it, where the story was born and what it meant for him. Those posts can be found here, and here, and here.

Dancing Priest on Kindle can be found by clicking from Glynn's blog -- here.

Congratulations Glynn! And Thank You! You filled my evening with love and wonder and an awe of your faith.

Expectant Silence: An Advent Poem

2011-11-28T08:10:00.001-07:00

Over at Spirituality and Practice I am engaged in an Advent retreat (Child of the Light with Beth Richardson) designed to connect me to the spiritual aspects of the season of Advent. As the days grow shorter and shorter, and the nights longer and colder, I am spending time everyday listening to a Christmas hymn/song, meditating and reflecting on what resonates within me as I stop, take a breath, quiet my mind and find myself centered in the wonder of being alive, in this special time and place, being me.

This morning, as sunrise streaked across the sky, in the aftermath of a wild wind storm yesterday where lawn furniture was blown all around and the side of my garage looks like the Revenge of the Soured Crab Apple has struck, I breathed deeply and found myself opening up to the wonder of this day.

I am seeking a place of quiet. A place where the hustle and bustle of the season wanes as I find that place within where I know connection, contemplation and communion with the world, within and outside of me. Where I live from my poet's heart, sensing the world through the beauty expressing itself through my soul's desire to be the one I have been waiting for, just as the Christian world awaits the birth of the One it has been waiting for.

And in that moment of quiet, this became my poem for the day.

Expectant Silence (An Advent Poem)

In expectant silence
the world awaits
the coming
of a child
heralding
a world
of peace
hope
love
and
joy.

In the quiet
of dawning light
I await
morning
streaming rose and gold
threads of glory
filling the sky
with the promise
of a new day
born in the darkness
of the night

silence descends
light enters

I feel
the breath of God
awakening my soul
with fluttering wings
I become an oasis
of peace
hope
love
and
joy.

Peace: Advent devotional

2011-11-27T09:13:00.001-07:00

Today is the first Sunday of Advent. I didn't need Glynn's excellent blog today at Faith. Fiction. Friends. to remind me of the significance of this day -- though I do thank him for his beautiful words that did remind me to centre myself, enter my heart and connect to the beauty and glory of God's breath moving through me.

I was raised Catholic. Baptized at birth. Communion at age 6. Confirmation at age 8. We attended church every Sunday. My mother was a member of the Catholic Women's League and every Friday, I helped her change the flowers on the altar. I loved to wander through the church, examining each statue, standing before each Station of the Cross, bowing my head and saying a prayer. Most often, I prayed hardest for peace. World peace. Family peace. Peace I wanted it desperately. I wanted it to be real throughout the world. A child with a vivid imagination, it troubled me that there was war in our world. It disturbed me and left me feeling helpless. The only thing I knew I could do was to pray. And so, I knelt before each Station and prayed, for God, for Jesus, for Mother Mary and all the Saints to rain peace on our world -- I also didn't know the difference between reign and rain and so, I prayed for droplets of peace to fall down on everyone.

I loved the church. The quietness of the space. The holiness of the environment. I wasn't too keen on the structure -- seriously? How was I, a little girl of five to sit still through all the talk? I loved the music, the incense, the kneeling up and down, the genuflecting and bowing of my head. I loved the singing, the rituals, the repetitiveness of chanting Sanctus. Sanctus. Sanctus. But the talking on and on? It was hard to sit on that wooden pew and listen and not swing my legs or count the number of nubs of wool in my sweater or pick at the scab on my knee. It was hard to be good.

As a little girl, Advent was one of my most favourite times of the year. It was a time of peace, hope, joy and love. A time of waiting. Anticipation and excitement. It was a time when our house became bedecked with greenery and red bows, a time when the smell of fresh baking, pies and savories, tarts and cookies, and the ubiquitous Christmas cake, filled the air with their heady aromas. There was the Christmas tree to decorate and the decision of who's turn it was to place the angel on high. As the youngest, I often tried to vie for position, but in fairness, we all four children had to take our turns. Though sometimes, if my sister particularly wanted something from me or really didn't want me to tell on her for some transgression, I'd negotiate for her coveted task of placing the angel at the top of the tree if it was her year to be the anointed. Sometimes, it even worked!

I loved Christmas. (Still do.) There were all the Christmas songs and parties, and of course, the Advent Calendar with its 24 little doors offering up a chocolate a day. And yes, there was the angst and hope and wondering... would Santa really show?It is hard to disconnect the commercial from the secular in Christmas. It is challenging to divest gift-giving from the heart to those we love with a desire to keep on giving, even when credit cards are maxed out -- because advertisements and marketers keep coaxing us to express our love by giving more than we can afford. And, it is hard sometimes to remember that Christmas isn't about buying and decorating and planning parties.

Christmas is a time of waiting. Of contemplative reflection of the significance of the coming of a child who symbolizes all that is wondrous and glorious in our world. A child for whom Christian faith waits every year to bring God's message of Peace. Hope. Love. and Joy to a world so sorely in need of Peace. Hope. Love. and Joy.

This is the First Sunday of Advent. Today, I will place an Advent Wreath on my table as I do every year and light the first candle signifying Peace. In its light I shall pray for the same thing I once prayed for so fervently as a child -- Peace on earth.And in that light, I shall be connected to other lights shining brightly with their message of Peace on Earth. And together, we shall create more of what we want in the world.

I invite you to join me in celebrating the season of Advent in contemplative joy. Do visit Glynn's site -- he has a link to a wonderful little e-book on celebrating Advent which I have already downloaded and begun to read. As we travel through these next four Sunday's of Advent, may we each be filled with the gifts of Peace. Hope. Love. and Joy.

Namaste.

War on Our World -- a dcoumentary

2011-11-26T08:20:00.001-07:00

A Saturday Documentary worth watching.

(a full length feature film -- 2+ hours)

WAR ON OUR WORLD (2011) from Dominoes Falling Productions on Vimeo.

Yes! We can end poverty.

2011-11-25T07:11:00.001-07:00

There's always going to be bad stuff out there. Buthere's the amazing thing -- light trumps darkness, every time. You stick acandle into the dark, but you can't stick the dark into the light. Jodi Picoult

We lit a lot of candles yesterday at the YWCA and Action to End Poverty conference -- Dream no Little Dreams.

We lit up a lot of darkness.

I asked the question yesterday. I asked it of the small group I was part of, and it was asked of the large group when our 'spokesperson' reported back to the large group.

"What am I doing to contribute to someone else's poverty?"

To highlight my question, I shared my belief it was important for me to tip servers more than I would have in the past. "I give a minimum of 20%, especially if it's a restaurant where alcohol is served."

"But you're letting the government off the hook," said one of our group. "They made the decision to make minimum wage for servers less than for others. Why should you pay for it?"

"Because it's 'my bad'." I replied. "When the government brought in legislation that increased minimum wage to $9.40 for all employees except those who serve liquor, where they set the minimum wage at $9.05, I did not speak up. I did not write, phone, email my government representative. I did nothing. I figure I need to pay for my mistake -- and I need to speak up! Now."

And there's a bigger question attached.

Why do we have a minimum wage of $9.40 ($9.05 if you serve alcohol) when the 'living wage' in our city is...

$12.50.

Seriously? Why do we have a legislated minimum wage that keeps people in poverty? And why am I doing nothing about it?

Heck, even at $12.50 you can't really afford to live in this city. And dreams of owning your own home? Taking a vacation? Buy your children Christmas gifts? I don't think so.

We contribute to other people's poverty everyday. From not tipping, to paying the handyman below living wage, to supporting company's that do not pay a living wage, we are contributors to other people's poverty.

It was a great day yesterday at the conference. Lots of inspiring people, great information and a sense of purpose. As one of the speakers said, we can 'abolish' poverty. "Imagine," he said. "If when the abolitionists took action they had said, 'we're going to start with the goal to decrease slavery by 25%'."

Yup.

Imagine.

It was a day of dreaming big dreams. Of casting ideas and creating a net to catch them and carrying them out of the seas of possibility into the clarity of a dream that says, YES! we can end poverty. We must. We will.

Namaste.

Thinking about poverty

2011-11-24T06:10:00.001-07:00

I am attending a conference today on poverty. Hosted by the Action to End Poverty in Alberta and the YWCA of Calgary, the organizers hope to come out of the day with a concrete 'move forward' plan that will create a unified voice in our province around the issues of poverty as well as people eager to participate in furthering today's agenda.

Last night, I joined conference organizer, Joe Ceci along with keynote speaker, Tony Martin for dinner and we talked about -- how do you end poverty?

In some ways, the question is egotistical on our part -- I cannot 'end' something in your life without your consent, and if you don't believe it can 'end' all my ranting and raving and coercive dialogue will do nothing to end what I perceive to be the issue in your life.

Yet, it is a question that must be asked. How do we end poverty? Because poverty keeps people down. Or, maybe the question has to be asked differently? How do provide opportunities for people to rise above the poverty line?

Perhaps the answers begins with ending the things we do to contribute to poverty and the existence of 'the line'.

Poverty is like an addiction. It wears you down. It ladens you with shame. You spend so much time grinding your way through the day, there is no energy to 'be' anything other than tired. Tired of the drag. Of the inertia, the numbing drain of fighting for one more dime, one more bit of a break to stretch the dollars to meet the dates flying by on the calendar. And in that tired place, there is no sense of hope, of tomorrow will be a better day. There is no relief from living below the poverty line.

When you put your children to bed and lay awake all night worrying about the fact there's nothing to feed them for breakfast, you don't have much room for optimism. You know their stomachs will not be filled with 'hoping' the cupboard will be full in the morning.

How do we end poverty? Perhaps, we need to begin with asking ourselves, What do I do to help create and/or sustain it? And then, look deep to determine, how do I change what I'm doing that keeps people in their poverty stricken place?

Reality is, we, the askers, contribute to creating poverty in our world -- if only for the simple reason, many of us don't hold our governments accountable for what they do with our tax dollars to relieve the suffering of our neighbours. If we don't identify what we are dong to contribute to rising poverty levels in our cities and communities, we really can't change what we're doing.

So, in an effort to understand where and how I contribute to poverty in my community, I must start with a few random statements and questions on my ideas/feelings/thoughts on poverty so that I can understand -- what I know about the issues surrounding poverty and where I stand to create change:

I do not like being poor. Does anyone?
I've never been 'poor' as in 'living in poverty'. I have been poor as in -- no money. Lost everything. Do I really understand the fear, sorrow, terror of a mother who can't give her child breakfast? When my cupboards are full, does that mean everybody else's are too? (and that's a rhetorical question...)
Economic poverty is different than emotional/spiritual poverty. Economic poverty is externally generated. Emotional/spiritual poverty comes from within -- but is this a chicken and an egg thing? Does economic poverty leave you emotionally drained so that you have nothing left to feed your spirit? OR If you're born into poverty does that mean you have little emotional/spiritual resiliency to withstand the challenges of a poverty-riddled life?
We can stop what we're doing to contribute to creating poverty. We can't end poverty in someone's life without their consent. How do we get consent when we continue to do the things we do that contribute to poverty in the first place? OR is the question really -- How do we engage people suffering from poverty in the conversation when they can't afford the time or even the bus fare to get to the meeting?
If people living in poverty want what we have, and what we have is contributing to poverty in our world, if they get it will there be more, or less, poverty in our world? For example -- employers want 'cheap' labour to keep the cost of goods down, or to increase their margins. Not paying a living wage keeps people in poverty.... and the circle continues. For example.... affordable housing builds have been cancelled due to community opposition -- what are we afraid of? Poverty is contagious?
Poverty is very much a 'feminine' issue in that women are more likely to be poor, earn less than men (66% on avg of what men earn in Alberta), and when women experience poverty, so do their children.

The feminization of poverty, as a lived reality, represents something larger than simply a lack of income for a state of financial need for women. while the very definition of poverty implies the inability to meet basic needs such as food, clothing, or shelter, being poor also implies the absence of choice, the denial of opportunity, the inability to achieve life goals, and ultimately the loss of hope. Megan Thibos et al. (2007) The feminization of poverty.

I'm thinking today will be an interesting, enlightening and exciting day. I'm thinking, there's much to learn, much to do.

I'm thinking....

Bless them. Forgive me.

2011-11-23T06:53:00.001-07:00

The purpose that you wish to find in life, like a cureyou seek, is not going to fall from the sky. I believe purpose is something forwhich one is responsible; it's not just divinely assigned. Michael J. Fox

So, self-confession time, I can groan and grumble, criticize and complain like the best of them!

But grumbling and complaining does not get me more of what I want in my life. It only leaves me feeling unhappy with myself, dissatisfied with my actions and uncomfortable in my ripple in the world.

One of the idioms I want to live by is: Do not Criticize. Condemn. or Complain.

And then, I catch myself doing all three.

Hello? Seriously? All three?

And then I smile.

Yes. All three.

Bless them. Forgive me.

I am human and in my human condition I forget sometimes to fill my heart with gratitude and leave the dissatisfaction out of the picture.

Yesterday, as I was taking a media person around the shelter where I work, a client approached and said, "I hear you're leaving."

"Yes," I replied. "At the end of the year."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "We'll miss you." And he handed me a chocolate bar. "Here. Merry Christmas. You've done a lot for all of us here. Thank you."

I was flummoxed. I didn't want to take it. I mean seriously. This is a guy who is homeless. Who has nothing to give and here he is giving what he has to me.

And then I remember one of the Lessons in Love I shared in my TEDxCalgary talk -- When you think you have nothing left to give, keep giving.

This man has chosen to live with gratitude. Chosen to give even as he struggles to get on with his life. And in his giving, he has given me the gift of joy, of laughter, of a smile of human connection.

I was at a loss to thank him yesterday. I smiled and said Thank you, but I was overcome with his gesture of giving. In my loss of words, he received the gift of my emotions flowing over and together we created a perfect circle of gratitude.

"Don't make me cry," I warned him, the chocolate bar a solid weight in my hands.

He laughed. "It's easy to make you smile. It's nice to know, I can make you cry too."

"I really appreciate your generosity," I told him before walking away to continue showing my guest the shelter. And as I walked away, I felt warm with the knowing that two human beings had touched and connected through gratitude. I felt my heart expanding, my spirit lifting.

I have been grumbling about some of the things that have been transpiring since I announced my resignation from the shelter. Oh, not overtly of course. Now why would I be open and honest and transparent?

Nope. I've been doing the manipulative, underhanded kind of grumbling that doesn't sit well with anyone, especially me.

It's time to stop. To give it up and to be... Thankful.

I have had almost six years working in this amazing place. Six years to give and receive the gift of my humanity. It is not up to me to dictate, direct or determine what happens next in that environment.

It is up to me to take care of the 3Ds in my own life. Here and now.

And allowing feelings of less than and dissatisfaction determine my worth does not serve me well. It does not create more of what I want in my life.

Bless them. Forgive me.

My stated purpose in the world is to: create joy in an enlightened world.

I cannot create joy if I am holding onto resentments, or feelings of discontent.

I cannot responsibly live on purpose when I am living from a place of lack filled with criticism, condemnation and complaints.

Bless them. Forgive me.

My heart is grateful this morning.

My spirit light.

Sure, I know I'll probably have moments of angst, of wondering what the heck is going on. I'll probably even forget myself and grumble about something that will not sit well within me.

And I know, that no matter what, when I let go of the critic and fall in Love with gratitude, I will be living on purpose, responsible for me, myself and I. Taking action to create more of what I want in my life.

It is my choice. My gift to give and receive.

I am responsible for living on purpose.

Bless them. Forgive me.

I am filled with grace.

The Plant Lady

2011-11-22T06:23:00.001-07:00

It's the little things you do that make the big things happen. Mike Dooley

A year and a half ago a friend called me in distress. The 27 year-old woman who was renting one of the condo's she owns had committed suicide.

My friend needed help.Overwhelmed by the process of organizing with the young woman's sister for the removal of items the sister wanted -- that she would take back east -- my girlfriend was at her wits end as to what to do with the remaining items. "I called the shelter to come pick everything up," she said, "but there was a mix-up and now, I have to get it out of there so the painters can get to work and I don't know what to do."

Not to worry, I told her. I'd get my daughter and her boyfriend to come over with his pick-up truck and take away whatever was there. We can put it in the garage until you figure out what you want to do with it.

And that is how my bedroom came to be filled with beautiful plants.

That is is how I came to remember the joy in caring and tending for houseplants. And the gifts of life growing and blossoming everywhere around me.

Before my daughters were born I loved cultivating houseplants. My home was filled with greenery. I treasured their beauty and revelled in the joy of greenery all around.

And then... life got busy. Two daughters eighteen months apart. A dog. Two cats. A husband who wanted to keep climbing and skiing and back-country escapading every weekend. Working full-time. Writing. Entertaining (at the time I also hosted a cooking show on local TV as well as ran a cooking school with a girlfriend) Training for a marathon. It all got overwhelming.

Something had to give.It was my plants that gave. Up. They couldn't water themselves. They couldn't clip and prune and fertilize their leaves. They had to go.

And gradually. One by one. They went. Some went of natural causes (perhaps hurried along by lack of love and attention). Others found new homes but eventually there was not a living bit of greenery in my home. I did buy a few stalks of the silk variety -- but they never really made the grade and were reminders of my failed horticultural history. The silk plants went too.

And always, I missed my plants. Felt guilty for having given them up. And always, I told myself... I don't do plants. If they can't feed and water themselves, I don't do plants.

And then, my girlfriend asked for help and in that act of giving, I received a gift of life. I went to the condo with my daughter and her boyfriend and there was this big box of plants sitting on the kitchen counter with a note: Looking for a home -- and I wondered, can I? Should I? What if...?

I gave them a home.And they have given me so much more.

I never met the woman who rented the condo and ended her own life so abruptly. I never met her sister who swept in, and swept out the condo leaving behind these precious pots filled with life.

But I know the woman. I know this woman who couldn't keep living. She is here. In my room. She lives in each precious pot of greenery that graces the bay window by my bed. She is in the Begonia by the kitchen window. The Aloe hanging above the sink.

I couldn't let these plants die. I can't. I nurture them and water them and fertilize them and clean their leaves. I talk to them. I open the blinds every morning and invite the sun to stream in and inspire photosynthesis to take place. I invite the air to breathe into their leaves. For the process of respiration/expiration to transform the air I breathe.

And now, my plants are blossoming. Little flowers are appearing. Shoots giving off life. There is magic and wonder and beauty all around.

And in the gift of these plants, I have received many more gifts. A woman who was losing her home, whom I'd gone to see to give her cat food for her kitties, gifted me with a plant. "Please take this plant," she said. "I don't know where I'm going but I'd like to think the plant is safe with you." My sister and her husband bequeathed me a couple more. The ficus in my home office came from a doctor who was retiring and had no room to take his treasured ficus home.

I am becoming surrounded by greenery, by life breathing life into the air.I am becoming.... The Plant Lady! and I am happy! :)

It was just a little thing -- to rescue a few plants. It has grown into so much more.

Red and Blue Polka Dots (a poem)

2011-11-21T06:27:00.001-07:00

This morning, over at Maureen Doallas', Writing Without Paper, she shares the poetry and voice of Texas Poet Laureate, David M. Parsons. One of the poems Maureen shares is Parson's, The Color of Mourning. Reading this powerful and heart-breaking poem, I let my muse wander into that place that connects me to the collective flow of creativity all around.

Now, the deal is.... when I lay in bed this morning in that place where being awake stretches back into dreaming trying to hold onto that one thought that shimmered in the pre-dawn light, I saw 'a truth' floating through my mind. It was one of those singular thoughts of such beautiful and exquisite clarity I almost leapt out of bed and started dancing -- but C.C. and Ellie might have jerked awake somewhat consternated! So I lay there and let the thought expand into view with the gentleness of a moonbeam lighting the night casting a warm golden glow on my heart.

And then, I read Maureen's blog and Parsons' poem and that one thought exploded into words and I wrote it out and knew -- I am ok.

Actually, I'm beyond ok, I am filled with wonder! I am a magnificent being of light and love. I am powerful beyond my wildest imaginings.

From a wide-eyed child of five who saw the wonder in everything, to hiding my light beneath the fear that it was all my fault things happened the way they did in the world, to knowing -- it's not about fault or blame or shame, it's always, always about living from the heart, wild and free and loving and caring and being kind. It's always about being my most amazing, incredible, magnificent self creating a world of wonder, seeing the beauty in everything and everyone because I know... no matter what happens in the world, I am safe when I stand, In Love, with me, myself and I and the world around me. We all are.

I am blessed.

My life is richer than I ever imagined. My world filled with more love and joy than I ever thought possible. But then, love is limitless and joy is all around.

I am blessed.

David M. Parsons' poem, The Color of Mourning can be found online at Ampersand Poetry Journal -- it is about a yellow dress -- his words inspired me to write about a white with red polka dot dress.

Red and Blue Polka Dots

She wore a white polka-dot dress
the day she began searching for
the reason why
she had to say thank you
no matter what anyone did

The dots were red. Her sister's blue
they always dressed the same

those two, everyone said
they're so different
no matter the shade
of red and blue

her sister wasn't there
that day
she was the older one and no one
thought to make her quit
dancing
in her blue polka-dot dress

but she was so little
she cried and said I'm tired
and the party revolved around the room
and she felt hot and sickly

her mother said
go home with your uncle

he is so kind
to leave the party just for you

and don't forget
to say thank you

and she didn't
forget

it would be many years
before she understood
the one
reason
why

there is no one
reason

she did the things she did
that hurt her

and it would be many years
before she understood
why her mother said
thank you
to the man
who used his hands the way he did.

Listen to a reading: Audio Recording on Monday evening Red and Blue Polka Dots by Louiseg88