Even though I now spend much effort to keep my focus on the present moment, there are days when the past is prominent. Today marks the anniversary of the Montreal Massacre. December 6 has had sobering meaning to me for the past two decades. I recall when I first heard the news of the murders. I had just returned from an abnormal psychology class held in the Engineering Building at McMaster. The parallels did not escape my consciousness. At first, I felt rage for Marc Lepine and pity for those women and their loved ones. As time has passed, however, I feel compassion for everyone involved in that particular tragedy as well as for everyone else who suffers from misogyny. Perhaps that it what I have learned from all of the personal and world tragedies I have experienced. Hatred, ill-will and revenge only fuel more hatred, ill-will and revenge. In the end, compassion and love are all that makes sense.
Posts by :
This morning, while I was playing a balance game on my wii, I noticed how easily I could find my place at the edge of the pendulum. Yet, when I was required to balance right in the middle, I often faltered. I felt uneasy and tentative in the middle. This observation struck me as a broader truth in my life. How readily I am calm and focused in a crisis, yet how easily I lose my way when the drama is dialed down, In those moments of quiet, I find myself out of sorts. In times of emergency, I can feel quite brilliant and vital.
I know that it not only me, but many clients report how drama helps them to feel alive, that it serves as their centre of vitality. At the same time, it is exhausting and cannot be sustained interminably.
How do we learn to be comfortable in the quiet centre? In my experience, by going through the middle and living through the moments of boredom and dissatisfaction. By looking into the garden and noticing how the sparrow deftly balances on a twig, how an ant carries a bread crumb across the sidewalk. By noticing when your heart stops pounding and your thoughts allow microsecond-long gaps, there is sweetness that defies all description. That is exactly where I want to be.
Yesterday, as I walked along the pathway to my house, I spotted an orange spider creating a web right in front of me. She produced the web from her belly, a wondrous thread of possibility. She inspired me to examine how I was manifesting creativity in my own life. Yes, I write a blog, do daily journalling, take photographs and paint occastionally, but how can creatvity infuse my life. I marvel at the full-time artists in my life, how they view their entire world through the lens of art, of seeing unique ways of connecting experiences. Just like the spider. All day and night long, she weaves intricate webs as a matter-of-fact task. I wonder whether when the web is finished, the spider spends a few moments to revel in her creation. I certainly do.
Perhaps the key to a creative life is to simply engage in it everyday whether profound ideas arrive or not. So, I take my inspiration from that orange spider, to just keep making my own webs, my own art as a daily practice. Some of the results will be banal yet some of them will be brilliant. It is both the product –and the process– in which the magic is found. From deep within my belly lies the words, objects, activities and images that connect my personal experience with the universe.
Anger has such deliciousness, it’s burning breath cleansing what’s stuck deep within me. Anger is a powerful, often too forceful, way to set my boundaries, to let the world know what are my bottom lines. Although I have long struggled to befriend and observe my own versions of anger, recent events have forced me into a closer relationship with it. A young person in my life has been suffering from neglect and abuse which of course incenses me. I have spent many hours in meditation and sacred space to transmute this anger into something more palatable to me like compassion. Still, anger rises up in me, heating up my core — and it feels good. In the rapture of outrage, I realize that it is the clinging to anger that harms. When I allow the energy to course through me and out, then I feel lighter and expanded energetically. This is indeed the healing potential of anger.
After spending some time with my father and stepmother in Texas, I noticed how different I felt in the last few visits. I was more relaxed and happy throughout the entire time! In so many previous trips, I got lost in anger and hurt and all other kinds of drama. At some point in each previous visit, I swung between desperately wanting to leave and an abiding sadness over our impending separation. I begin arguments with them, to convince myself at once of wanting to leave and wanting their attention. I felt as though the orbit of my unresolved childhood feelings pulled me in with irresistible force.
Oh, how I craved that perfect loving relationship with my parents. How I wanted them to nurture me, support me, protect me and be there exactly when and how I needed them. I spent so many years silently wishing for all of this. It never happened.
So, in unconscious ways, I felt bitter about this unmet desire. Then, in meditation, appropriately enough while on retreat in Texas, a realization healed me. I decided to let go of my expectations, however reasonable, and just enjoy my father and stepmother’s company. I relinquished perceptions of old hurts over abandonment and imperfect love. I opened to the truth that this is the only moment in which to live and to enjoy. I finally chose to be free from the suffering of wanting my experiences to be different. I knew that I/my ego –not the people closest to me — had created my suffering. I felt weary enough of the pain and set it down.
I have even applied this approach to my much more complicated relationship with my mother. When I was 23 years old, my mother died suddenly. At first, I was convinced that I would never be able to heal the wounds between us. I felt utterly discouraged about the cruel ending that the universe provided. Yet that ending was actually an opening. My mother and I slowly began to communicate between worlds, and started to engage in healing. She became more nurturing and protective, and I became softer and more compassionate. Our relationship has healed beyond my hopes over these years of her physical absence.
Now, to be honest, I have played off-and-on with the suffering, but am now more aware of its contours. I get much less engaged with it, and am more immersed in my immediate experience. How joyful!
Well, I had taken a break from writing my blog while I enjoyed some rejuvenating time in Texas. Texas is such a fascinating land of contrasts between superficial and profound. There, junk food is elevated into an art form — deep-fried Twinkies and Frito pie anyone? At the same time, I am utterly charmed by the friendliness of the people. In many different contexts, I felt that strangers cared about my well-being, they took the time to really understand what I needed in the situation and offered genuine help. Despite the busy-ness of their lives, the Texans repeatedly impressed me with their compassion. While lost along the Gulf coast, a woman (in her gigantic Suburban) drove us to the restaurant we were trying to find. On many other occasions, people asked how I was in a way that invited a true and complete answer. Although there are certainly troubling aspects to the Texan way, I admire their sense of community.
My time in Texas inspired me to be more friendly and less reserved. I notice in Toronto how ‘nice’ people can be, but that we often lack friendliness. So, in this spirit of community, I will actually introduce myself to my new neighbours, and perhaps even try to start a conversation on the subway!
Although my role is formally to help others achieve their health goals, I am consistently in awe of how clients teach me the deep lessons in life. Recently, I have been working with a woman who has a chronic degenerative eye disease. Gradually, she is losing her central vision and may one day no longer be able to see. In one of our visits, she explained to me how travelling has changed for her. She said “You know, on previous trips, I could see the big picture — the monuments, the horizon, the birds flying in the sky. Now I can only see what is right in front of me.” From her perspective, this narrowing of vision is a terrible sign of the progression of the disease process. Her words, though, struck me. To see only what is exactly in front of me. That has been the goal of my hours of meditation! How I wriggle from its grasp, how I want to be caught in endless thoughts about my future and ruminations from the past. How many ways have I invented to avoid the present. This woman, who bravely yet reluctantly deals with vision loss, is the embodiment of presence. Sometimes healing is that bitter pill, the last thing we ever want to experience. I am blessed to witness so many of these hard-fought epiphanies. So, thank you to all the wise and brilliant people who have crossed the threshold of my office, to show me what healing truly is.
One of the best pieces of advice I have ever received was from a mountain bike instructor. Just before I embarked on my first ride through the woods in east Toronto, he told me ‘Always look to where you want to be going. If you look towards the tree stump you want to avoid, you almost always hit the stump.’ As a confident novice, I ignored his words at first. Again and again, though, I narrowly missed the rocks, the tree roots, the puddles, and the stumps. I believed that the diffuclt path full of obstacles offered the greatest adrenaline rush. I suddenly recalled the instructor’s words, though, and soon was giddily traversing the uneven path. It was on the path of least resistance that I experienced ‘flow’, a oneness with nature. Only later, did I realize the full impact of the instructor’s words. How important is it to focus on your dream and not all the blocks along the way. Even though it is helpful to make note of the pitfalls, most of my attention needs to be on what elevates and inspires me. Not to take the most difficult path, but the one with the easiest route. Not struggling against the tide, but being in the flow. Yes.
Today is a powerful day in planetary motion as a total solar eclipse has been arching over the skies of the South Pacific. Whenever such events occur, they can create waves of momentum in our everyday lives. Depending on how we manage the wave, it can propel us or drown us. Either way, we are released from the inertia of our lives. I have experienced the chaos of bobbing on the giant waves of change and know how terrifying it can be. I have also had the pleasure of basking in the clarity after the torment. How I spent so many years trying to control every aspect of my life to protect against the storms, the waves, the earthquakes. Still, they all broached my carefully-planned defenses and delivered me unwanted misery. By turning myself directly towards the pain and fear, however, I found my way to peace. I gained precious freedom by sitting in the darkness with the menacing sounds of night all around me. My stillness brought the light and revealed the truth of love. Even today, while watching a play at the Fringe Festival, I was overcome with the realization that nothing really matters except love. With love, everything is possible. Love for yourself, love for the universe, love for your family, love for your friends, love for the earth, love for your colleagues, love for those who have hurt you. So I wish all of you love as the energy of the eclipse rolls through your lives. Hang on and embrace the exhilaration.
Recently, I read a poem by Derek Walcott that so eloquently describes this return of love:
Love After Love
The time will come
when, with elation, you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,
and say sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
How many times did I catch myself in the heat wave this week, literally running around the city trying to accomplish so many things at once. Yes, I so easily embrace the hectic ‘yang’ lifestyle that’s endemic to Toronto. Only in this crushing heat do I have the opportunity to reflect on the ‘busyness’ of my life. Only then do I actually surrender to the languid rhythm of city heat. The energy of allowing is powerful indeed. Even though for most of my life I have been convinced of the efficiency of multi-tasking, I now endorse the widsom of focus, of surrender, of allowing the moment to unfold exactly as it should. I feel the time moving more slowly and deeply inside me. It is delicious indeed.