Looking from the Dark Side

Captured by mystic voices that speak in a foreign tongue.

I tune in and then tune out because I can’t understand.

Feel small and helpless, like I’m sitting on the moon looking back at Earth.

Resting far from home in this desolate place. Cold and dark. Alone.

So far away, there is no reason to reach out. To do so would be pointless.

Silence surrenders to muffled voices. Can’t escape them because they are mine.

I tune in and then tune out because I can’t understand.

The ground beneath me is hard, sandy and foreign. The winds are silent.

Wonder how I got to this place and dimly recall a journey. Seems a long time ago; another lifetime. Was that even me?

I remember moving forward through a fog only to open my eyes here. Why wasn’t I watching? How did I get lost?

The Earth is a small, beautiful blue green ball, beckoning from the dark expanse of space. Glowing.

How is it that I’ve come so far from home? I stretch an arm out towards Earth but know she is out of reach.

The sight of her sends a shiver across my chest and down my arms. I feel a mysterious, yet familiar warmth.

What a beautiful view. Think I’ll stay for a while.

Photo Credit: Dictybloke

The Empathic, Naked Soul

This morning I was overwhelmed by sadness, and for no apparent reason. I was curious because nothing was “wrong”, yet I still felt like having a good cry.

So, I let a few tears wet my cheeks, all the while wondering, “What is this feeling?” “Where has it come from?” “Why now?” The answer that came to me was this:

“You continue to evolve and grow. You have arrived at a new phase in your life, while having outgrown your old belief system. You don’t recognize who you are yet.

Everything is new and unfamiliar. Your reflection in the mirror is the same, yet something is different and you can’t quite put your finger on it.

You are mourning those parts of yourself that you have allowed to dissolve. They have simply fallen away effortlessly, and your ego’s bubble has been burst. It has no reference points.

You feel homesick for those lost parts of yourself. No matter how painful or uncomfortable they may have been, they were familiar. Your soul is now naked, the slate wiped clean, ready to start anew. You are looking for something familiar, some comfort to help you settle in. Just remember.”

Remembering the Innocence

I looked into that imaginary crystal ball, and travelled back to a place of innocence. Another place of unfolding and growth. A place of allowing, even though I wasn’t aware of it then. It was happening despite the choices I made.

I was delighted by what I remembered and bathed in this melancholy, feeling refreshed and more alive. The heaviness turned to curiosity, which in turn led me on an adventure. When I was finished, I felt home again in this new place — remembering me.

Just for fun, here are some of the things I remembered:

Watching the Waltons on Sunday evenings.
Drinking coffee with Coffee-mate — yuck!
Gathering snowy pieces of wood from the woodpile for our fireplace.
Eating Cream of Wheat cereal with lots of brown sugar.
Making onion sandwiches with white Wonder Bread and mayonnaise — yum!
Picking raspberries with my sisters down the lane.
Playing KerPlunk and Snakes and Ladders on a rainy afternoon.
Watching my grandmother wash her face with Noxzema.
The sound of popcorn being made in the kitchen.
Wagon Wheels and bologna sandwiches for lunch.
Freshly washed sheets hanging on the clothesline, frozen in the wintery breeze.
Watching my mother’s silhouette in the moonlight while she tucked me in.
My aching calves during haying season.
Wearing bell-bottoms and bangs.
Watching autumn leaves chase the school bus while it meandered along the winding roads towards school.
The sound of the frogs and crickets at night.
Resting on dirty bended knees, and smiling while watching tadpoles wiggle around in mud puddles.
Climbing a tree, barefoot and feeling safely hidden by its whispering leaves.
Laying on in the cool green grass, watching wispy clouds sail across the sky.

Melancholy is Becoming You

Memories and melancholy danced in my thoughts. Instead of avoiding my sadness, instead of running from it or pretending it didn’t exist I played in the sandbox. The sands of time if you may, brought me home.

I remembered pieces of my childhood, memories that brought me validation of having “been somewhere”. Memories that honoured my innocence. I felt on the brink of something new.

There is humility in allowing and witnessing the unfolding of yourself. There is courage and comfort in stepping outside of yourself to take an admiring glance at how far you’ve come. Remember?

We’re constantly growing even when we’re not aware of it. When the unknown, or unfamiliar may feel a little overwhelming, turn around and see from where you’ve come. See your footprints. You are on a path.

Go ahead, pat yourself on the back. Look at how far you have come. And wonder what is ahead. Be curious. There is courage in not always knowing where you are headed. Encourage the unfolding; trust it.

Loving who you were will ignite inspiration to move you forward into the unknown. It will connect you with a space in time where you loved who you were; when you loved where you were. Love where you are now because someday you will look back upon this time and this memory for sustenance.

What memories do you have that make you feel whole in your life now?

What gives you that boost to keep going when you feel a little lost or overwhelmed at the newness you’ve discovered in yourself?

What new memories have you made today?

Photo credit: Morning Glory

Just believe

“All my limitations are self-imposed, and my liberation can only come from true self-love.”
- Max Robinson

The following passage was taken from a Hallmark card that a very good friend sent to me. Reading it made my day because I’d forgotten to believe in myself. This reminded me how much I have accomplished. It reminded me to appreciate myself.

In life coaching when a coach gives a compliment or offers support, they’ll often tell you “let it land” … before you shake your head or shrug it off. And this landed for me, big time.

So, if you’ve had a heavy or challenging day, read this. If you don’t honestly resonate with it, what is it that you don’t believe, and why?

Know that somewhere, someone believes this about you. Remember when you believed it.

If you’ve had a fantastic day, read this. Connect these words to the powerfully positive feelings that you are living. Own them. You’re feeling like a million bucks! Celebrate. Absorb it. Let it land.

I think this is a wonderful way to start off the week. Be a friend to yourself and let this land, will ya?

I believe in you…
in your spirit,
your goodness,
in the way that you face each day
with a commitment to your life
and the things that really matter.
I believe in the decisions you make,
in the careful consideration
you give each challenge,
in the perseverance you’ve shown
when others might have given up.
I believe that you possess
an extraordinary strength
and endless reserve of resilience –
even more than you realize.
You are a person of enormous courage,
someone truly special in this world,
a rare and beautiful gift to all of us…
And I hope you’ll never forget that I believe in you!
m
Jennifer Fujita

And so…

Did it land?

What was your reaction? Tears? Awkwardness? A big smile?

Be honest. Don’t pretend it resonated if it didn’t. Own that — let THAT land.

You’re being given a clue. Where are you selling yourself short?

Give yourself some advice, as a friend. What would you say?

On a scale of 1 to 10, with ten being top-notch, how much did this resonate with you?

Photo Credit: Nganguyen’s photostream

These hands are my hands

I sat with my journal, facing a fresh blank page. My pen was poised above this page, waiting to make contact.

What connections would I discover? What message was there waiting for me? I touched the tip of the pen to the page and my eyes came to gaze upon my hand.

It was waiting too, holding the pen until it received guidance from me. What word would it write first? What letter? What thought would spark this writing?

I was instantly taken back in time, journeying to a place where I found myself sitting at a wooden desk in a grade two classroom. I was learning to write — incredibly focused and intent on learning as fast as I could.

You see, my teacher wasn’t teaching me how to write. I was. Our school didn’t teach children to write until grade three, and I just couldn’t wait.

The first word I remember writing was “pea”. I loved forming the letter “p” — the scooping descender and its big fat belly — how it danced so easily into the “e” and then with a swoop, trailing off into a big fat circular “a”. I wrote it over and over again, proud of myself because I was learning to write.

And then, leaving behind visions of pencils and crayons that scribble fat colourful letters, I returned to the present time, still gazing at my hand, appreciating both of them for how much they have done for me.

I started to think of all the things my hands have given and how much they have received. How connected with the outer world and the inner world they allow me to be. I decided to write a poem to show my appreciation for “these hands”.

These hands

They have held the umbrella that keeps me dry,
wiped salty tears from my lovely blue eyes.

They’ve played the clarinet, the piano, the drum,
and yes… when I was little, I sucked my thumb.

They scratch, and tickle, wiggle and wipe,
and across the keyboard they joyfully type.

They’ve held a paintbrush, a crayon, a pen,
and rise to the occasion to wave at a friend.

They’ve stifled a yawn and shielded a sneeze,
and braced my falls quickly, with incredible ease.

They brush my hair away from my eyes,
and shield the sun in the zenith sky.

They’ve cradled warm drinks on a cold day,
and made an ice snowball casting mittens away.

They’ve pulled up my socks and tied my laces,
and sewed buttons on in impatient races.

They’ve lovingly pet many a dog and a cat,
and encouraged good friends with a pat on the back.

As a child at bedtime, they’ve come together in prayer,
and picked many a berry, eager to share.

With delicate grace, expression entails,
and gestures of kindness gently prevail.

There’s energy present, a tingling vibration,
they connect me with life and all its sensations.

I think I could probably go on forever with this, but I think you get the picture.

I love my hands. They are alive. They are always touching something, whether it is this keyboard while I type, or the air as they swing by my sides when I’m walking.

There is just no end to the expression and the sensations we have at our fingertips through the use of our hands. They connect us.

Tell me… what do you love about your hands?

Photographic memories.

This is a school photograph taken of myself when I was eight years old. I love this picture, and this little girl.

Julie at Random Meanderings has shared six things about herself and asked me to do the same. I usually avoid memes, but after reading hers, I was inspired to share too. Plus, it’s a lazy Sunday evening, I’m sipping a nice glass of rosé and so, what the heck. Cheers.

When I look at this photograph I feel like no time has passed since 1972. The dress I was wearing was red — I looked good in red and still do. My hair now? Short and greying. My weight? Well, we won’t discuss that.

A lot has changed, but a lot of things are still the same, and these are the core aspects of myself that I love. Unfortunately they are also the ones that I tend to take for granted or forget to appreciate. So, to remind myself, I have put this photo on my refrigerator. I see it when I’m coming and going from my apartment and when I’m busy working in the kitchen.

When I look at this photo I’m overcome with a feeling of wanting to take care of this little girl. She looks vulnerable. This photo helps to remind me to be compassionate with myself — that’s where it all has to start.

I have a heart of gold.

My mother always told me that I had a heart of gold. I still do. But as an adult, some days I seem to be sitting around waiting for a rainbow to find that pot of gold. Sometimes I give too much of myself, sometimes not enough. Staying balanced with this is important to my happiness and to others.

My challenge is to not be afraid to let my light shine. To speak my truth. I am reminded of some lines from that well-known Marianne Williamson passage: “…Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do….”

To speak your truth is to give others the permission to do the same. I have an innate desire for everyone to just be happy. Simple. Or is it? In this world I wonder if I’m being idealistic. But it all has to start with oneself…. right? I suspect that’s what has attracted me to life coaching.

I was a nature-lover.

I still am. I often reminisce about growing up on the farm: swinging in the apple orchard, riding horses, playing in the hayloft, climbing trees, feeding squirrels and rolling around on the freshly mowed lawn. Once I got stung by a bee doing this.

I haven’t lost my appreciation for nature. I’m always looking up to admire the sky, the clouds and the trees. I’d rather listen to the bird’s songs and the wind, than music on my cd player. Camping is one of my most favourite things to do in the summer.

I’m collecting memories: a great blue heron gliding swiftly through the mist that’s rising through the early morning rays of the sun, the distant hooting of owls at two am, leaves falling from the trees at two am, the mountains, the pounding rain, the wind. Oh, the wind.

I loved to dance.

I still do. In public school my sisters and I took jazz dancing lessons. I was in a couple of dance recitals. Although I was incredibly shy I loved being up on the stage performing with the rest of the class. There was just something about the energy of being together in a group and entertaining.

A few years ago I went to a live musical with a friend. The last number was a tap dance. There were at least 40 dancers on stage performing. The sound of the music, the rhythm of their tapping, their spectacular costumes and the expressions on their faces mesmerized me. The energy was so powerful that I was moved to tears.

A couple of years ago I took belly dancing and not long after that I tried swing and salsa. Unfortunately, my knees couldn’t stand up to my enthusiasm so I had to quit. But that doesn’t stop me from clowning around my apartment with a pretend microphone, listening to Tears for Fears or Dire Straits.

I loved to write.

I still do. When I turned 12 I started to write poetry. Here’s the first verse of a poem I wrote on July 19, 1978. It is called “Wonders of Nature”.

Have you ever admired the sunrise,
against the bright orange sky?
Or gently picked a dandelion,
or watched a butterfly?

Now, I blog. I’ve always had a fascination for expression with the written word, and I do much better getting my message out through writing than I do verbally. It doesn’t matter whether I’m proofreading, editing or writing for my blog, times passes very quickly. It gives me joy. There is so much to say….

I loved silence.

I still do. When I was in grade three, the same grade when this photo was taken, our teacher gave us a challenge — our class had been getting too noisy. She told us that whoever could be the quietest student over a certain period of time would win a prize. Guess who won?

Nothing has changed. I still prefer my alone time. I need it to recharge and refresh my mind. I’ve learned to accept that introversion is not a handicap and to realize that I prefer silence. I like listening to it. Now that’s an interesting contradiction isn’t it? Listening to silence.

I loved my grandmother.

I still do. She passed away in 1991 but it seems like yesterday. Margaret was many things to me. She was more than a grandmother. She was a second mother, an older sister and my best friend. We enjoyed silence together. We both liked to dance. We enjoyed nature.  We were both clowns and always kidded around with each other. She used to tell me, “I love you with big boxcar letters.”

Today I remember her fondly. There are days when I’m home working that I suddenly feel she has just walked into the room. I say hello to her and go about my business. We shared a special connection. We still do.

And so, those are six things about me — then and now. I hope you enjoyed my trip down memory lane. I sure did. Cheers.

I won’t tag anyone, but your stories are welcome in the comments section. The floor is all yours. Tell me something about yourself — then and now.