Begin Again

 "At the beginning, there was nothing but love and stardust. My heart yearns to begin again" Atticus

We resurrected the decrepit miniature artificial tree on the picnic table in the classroom. Taped it down with masking tape and placed a bucket of random ornaments and beaded garlands next to it. Every year this becomes an exploration center in our Kindergarten classroom and I eagerly anticipate the reactions of the students when they enter the class. There is a gravitational pull towards the mangy tree, and generally the first four students to come in, plunk themselves on the bench next to it. The other's disappointment in not getting a turn is appeased by the promise of tomorrow and the other equally enticing choices. There is usually the obvious question of what to do at this center while others know right away and start adorning the branches or unfurling the garland that has seen better days.  This center speaks to the experiences of the children.  There are always those who say they have never been allowed to decorate the tree, others who want reassurance about where the ornaments would go best, and those who just drink in their good fortune of being able to do whatever they want with the appearance of the tree. There is nothing breakable and after it falls over a few times, they understand a bit more about gravity and the balancing out of the weight of the tree. At the end of the time, I ask them to undecorate  so that others can have a chance. This will take place until all students have had a turn to do the decorating and the last group will leave the decorations and the tree in the class until the holiday break.  Many students decorate it a second and third time while others have no interest but no one questions undoing the tree and all seem very willing to begin again tomorrow.

Out for a morning run like many previous mornings, I was engrossed in a podcast and looking down at my feet as they splashed through the morning puddles. The flyer delivery van was making its usual route of darting in and out of driveways, so I stepped off the curve of the road and back onto the sidewalk. With milder mornings I had not been thinking of slippery surfaces. As I rounded the corner, I could feel my feet gliding too far back and in a split second, I found myself skidding on my knees to a full face plant. My teeth were only saved by the length of my nose, which in that instant, I was very grateful for. The first thing I felt was the sting of my lip and tip of my nose.  I levitated off the sidewalk at lightning speed, glanced over my shoulder, and continued on my run.  In that dazed moment, there had been no time for resistance and I had given in  to the calamity that unfolded. This is why I was not injured beyond scraped knees, ripped tights, and a bruised ego. In the pitch black of the morning, I realized I was the only witness.  The rest of the run home, I marveled at how lucky I was and tried to make sense of what brought me to my knees. Beginning my run again, I appreciated the opportunity to do so.

I was reminded of what a gift it is to be able to begin again this week and how this is such a theme that runs through everything this time of year.  Very soon we will have the longest night of the year which will give way to the daylight beginning to lengthen again.  At the same time, Winter will begin again in the Northern Hemisphere and our celebrations of the season will whisper these same opportunities.  

Channukah came about because the Jewish community created a new menorah after the original one was stolen. It was fueled with only enough oil to burn for one day and instead, it stayed lit for eight consecutive days. This was the beginning of the eight holy days celebrated. The celebration of Kwanzaa is based on recommitting to their seven principles of  unity, work, responsibility, cooperative economy, purpose, creativity, and faith.  The African American community recognizes their ability to start again with their intentions and purpose and the importance of doing so. Even Christmas began with a story of a family looking to begin again despite hardship and adversity. To find shelter, acceptance, and peace.  Beginning again was steeped in hope for a better tomorrow based on the mercy of others. The new year is always celebrated as an opportunity for a new start in both the Chinese and Western Calendars.  It is as though each year we need these reminders,  that to begin again is the gift of being human.  It is an understanding that can alleviate so much of our suffering. Knowing we have permission to not hold tightly to our mistakes, our burdens, failures, or missteps. We can come back to good intentions, start over, and start fresh. It is like the Universe is telling us that all we have to do is set it down and in doing so we are free to begin again. So much of our lives go through learning this lesson. Every time we try something new and fail, every disastrous parenting moment we stumble through, every work-related mishap, or  miscommunication. We are always offered a clean slate if we choose to take it, knowing we can honour  ourselves this way. All of the stories we stay imprisoned in when all we need to do is put them down, dust them off, or reimagine them.  On our healing journeys, in our most important relationships, with our simplest truths, commitments, cares, and concerns. Every day we decide to wake up and leave yesterday where it belongs and take only what will allow a fresh start. Most  have traveled down many roads of regret with "what ifs" and "too lates" sitting heavy on their shoulders before they realize that they only need to stop resisting.  It is not always easy. If it were we would step back from ongoing wars, recognize that we can make sacrifices, and change patterns of behavior that are not in harmony with our planet. The person who has traded their integrity for wealth could start over or the person who tells themselves the story of worthlessness could choose another voice to hear.  If it were easy we could offer space to others to reimagine their path, choices, and intentions.  We could keep hope alive for someone else. The hope that tomorrow or even today with this breath, this present  moment, they could begin again.

And then maybe it is not so hard after all. Maybe beginning again is only lost on the masses because of it's simplicity. Maybe it is our resistance that is the suffering. When we only need to understand that our resistance to starting over/fresh is nothing more than an attachment to the known because no matter what has transpired in the moments until now, the next is always unwritten.  Perhaps it is foiled only by our fear of what we might be obligated to do or be as we envision a new beginning.  I wonder if it could be as simple as a gentle nudge of remembering from ourselves or someone else. Could our obstacles be surmounted if we just released ourselves from the old story or patterns of behavior and thinking? Every day offers us another chance to be kind to one another, to drop the burden of past hurt, and to carve a new path that allows us to walk more gently through each other's heads and hearts as well as our own. 

Whatever celebrations we are engaging in in the coming weeks, may we remember the gift to begin again somewhere in our own lives and, just like my beautiful tree decorators, have an opportunity to undecorate the clutter of the stories in our minds. May we also see the simplicity of placing it all back in the bucket and rest easefully in the eternal opportunity  we have ,in all aspects of our lives, to begin yet again with compassion, forgiveness and grace.

The Stories We Bring

 "There are three sides to every story, yours, mine, and the truth". Robert Evans

We had our first blanket of snow recently which has disappeared already but in its wake, it left the little people in my life anticipating its return.  As we stepped out on the playground to snow falling softly and the flakes beginning to speckle the ground, there were five to seven-year-olds squealing with delight. The momentum of the squeals caused their own flurry of excitement in the air and the energy was contagious. A gradual white sheet formed while some students proclaimed, "I love snow!" and others chimed, "It's snowing!", to anyone near.  Snow was magical and celebrated in their exuberance. 

When I stepped outside with the snow flurries whirling about and covering my hatless head, I silently cursed the flakes and myself for not being prepared.  My mind went to the absence of snow tires on my car as I had not been able to get an appointment until later in the month.  Shaking out my hair and pulling up my hood, I thought of the people living rough who had just experienced twenty-two-degree weather a few short days ago and thought of what a shock it must be for the weather to change so drastically. The magic of snow was lost on me in that brief instance because of the stories I was bringing to this moment.

Both of these realities were two sides to the same story and then there was the truth of snow.  Snow is just frozen water. Snowflakes are just ice crystals that fall to the earth from the sky. There are no two ice crystals alike as their shapes and designs change as they fall from the clouds with fluctuating temperatures. No two snow crystals or flakes will have the same history of development either, due to the conditions changing for each and creating a new and original design or form, much like us.

Thinking about the stories we bring along with us that seem to shape the reality we see or the truths we believe in, becoming a teacher was at the forefront of my mind. With a student intern doing her teaching in my classroom now, I have been remembering my own experience more vividly.   I felt like I was so unprepared for the practicum component. Walking into an alternate universe was how I could describe stepping into the school culture.  There was a lot of feeling overwhelmed by the expectations of a busy classroom.  Most days I wasn't sure I could navigate my own fluctuations of emotions and behavior so was feeling quite intimidated by the idea of doing so for the twenty young bodies before me.  I remember one of the teachers I spent time with. She had young children of her own and was eager for help in the class. I remember her telling me how poorly it all goes at times even with years of experience. She was a kind and caring woman and even her critiques of me were done with such care and respect that I knew I would be harder on myself through this experience than she ever would.  Her story she brought to this mentoring experience was that I was doing my best, I was her equal even as a beginner, and that because we will always find ourselves in places as beginners, we should never forget what that looks and feels like.  I am thinking she has a similar mentor in her life.  I thought I would never become an effective teacher or do what she made look so effortless because of my story of lack in skill and knowledge.  She was overly generous with me in her perspective, and I  was beyond critical of myself.  The real story in this was that teaching is a gift affecting lives, helping others grow and realize their potential, so rewarding and the idea of managing or controlling twenty human beings successfully all day every day is an unnatural and unattainable expectation or aspiration but thirty years later I am still teaching and continuing to learn and recognize the stories I am bringing to each interaction I encounter. It is less about managing and more about creating a space for all the stories the students bring to their individual experience which can often look like chaos and it is loud and messy more times than not, as all growth and real learning are.  

The dear friend I had the pleasure of sitting down with for tea, who sees me as someone who holds space without judgment even though she has also witnessed all of my shadows and the scope of my humanity, is a gift.  Because she has done and is committed to doing the work to recognize her own shadows and the stories she brings. She believes in the evolution and growth of herself and therefore is able to see it in me.  There also remains the person who carries the story, because of experiencing a conflict with me, who sees me only from the shadows when indeed the truth is I am both my friend and my adversaries' story. I am all of it and own it as all the colors of me.  It took me a long time to embrace my shadows and my light that exist in one physical form. Many of us need to be reminded that we are all of these things and what we abhor or become resistant to in others at times. 

I have mentored many teachers over the years and I am sure I thought I knew the truth of their experience until I realized I didn't and that none of us truly do.  Whether it is in a career, politics, religion, language, gender, or any of the other divisive places we find ourselves in, it is good to remember that we don't ever check ourselves or our stories at the door. We don't leave our personal lives at home, and maybe we don't have to.  Maybe we need to bring all of ourselves with our stories of what is truth, with the awareness of our unhealed places, our triggers, shadows, and experiences so we can remember all the parts of who we are and like my sweet friend doing the work, we can recognize ourselves in some aspect of our coworker, the dysregulated child in meltdown mode or the student intern figuring out the complexities of doing a job that feels humanly impossible right now, and understand with humility the stories we are bringing, and where the divide is happening. We can turn our attention inward and ask what is creating the strong feeling or why am I acting with resistance here? 

 Like the more than a septillion snowflakes that fall across Canada every winter, we bring our own unique design from the conditions that have created and shaped us, the stories, and maybe, only relative truths.  Because the truth is, well the truth is.. just the quality or state of being true to facts and then of course to our own realities with the discretion that it is of our own design and maybe we will be able to see the truth of someone else's experience, bringing peace to ourselves and another and we will remember there are always three sides to every story.

"Bird by Bird"

 "Driving a car at night, you can only see as far as your headlights  but you can make the whole trip that way." E.L. Doctorow

Thinking back to our family's drive home from Florida a few years ago. We had made it without incident most of the way and then we hit a snowstorm.  The worst of the storm was the last hour to our home and the visibility was so poor we were unsure if we should continue.   After gassing up, we headed back on the highway and to our good fortune, we landed behind a snow plow. He was going thirty kilometers an hour and blocking all sight of what was ahead on the road, but with a white knuckle grip on the steering wheel my husband, Mark decided to continue to follow. The distance between us and the plow was a car's length, illuminated by the lights on the vehicle. In this space, crawling along, we made the increments of the final leg of our journey home. Not knowing what was ahead but trusting in what we could see in the small illuminated space in front of us. 

The world population has rolled over to eight billion. Mother Earth is also driving with her headlights on and is only seeing this small space in the here and now and she is figuring out how to navigate it. She too is doing what only makes sense in this light from that high beam. She is sitting with all of us under the weight of excess and still being that presence of calm. Still providing us with this moment of peace in the view she provides.  

I had the pleasure of hearing the author Anne Lamott share the origin of the title of her book, Bird by Bird,  lessons on writing and life.  She talked about her ten-year-old brother who had been struggling to write a report on birds which he had known about for three months and it was now due tomorrow. He was seated at the kitchen table, close to tears, and surrounded by unopened books on birds, paper, and notebooks,  and his father came and sat down,  put his arm around him, and said, "Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird". 

These stories, memories, and facts landed in my lap this week and I realized that, without the words or the analogy, we too have been helping our daughter, Maya, with her transition to life in much the same way. We have savagely cajoled every last ounce of connection and purpose we could out of what was right here in front of us, the present circumstance with the intention to create a meaningful life and future for our autistic daughter.  We began with minuscule steps.  Post an ad, interview a person, inquire about a job placement, follow up, and follow through. Stumble across opportunities and programs, break down days, and hours. If not that then this. If this then maybe them. If them then also her.  Search, inquire, say no to that, try another, try again.  It has always really been bird by bird for Maya and most of us really. There was never a map or even a social structure for a person with a disability in our community or any other we know of.  It was looking at what was in front of us. What are the people who care doing? What map have others followed or created? Where did they arrive? Can we expect more,  or better? Can we try for something else? Is there something that someone else hasn't thought of? None of us can question, push or advocate all over ourselves all the time, or know what the future will look like but we can break it apart bird by bird, just like we do thought by thought in a meditation or moment of stillness. 

I think we can all appreciate what a meaningful piece of wisdom Anne has offered here in her beautiful story of her brother.  We all understand that none of us know what lies ahead by design and that we can only try our best with our own illuminated space before us and not chase the idea of the future. With our own range of sight, we decide to pick up the paintbrush instead of wondering if we will paint like Picasso. We put our fingers on the strings of a guitar before planning to perform a concert one day, pick up a pencil before we can write that memoir, and strap on the skis, before seeing the win of our first race. We play just this note, write only the line that matters, or paint the first stroke on the canvas. We are designing only the moment we can see and letting go of what comes next but knowing it leads somewhere.

"Bird by bird" in this way for Maya now looks like working in a school preparing and delivering a breakfast program, helping sort items for a hot lunch program, assisted by my husband or me on one day and a wonderful young woman on two others. It looks like attending a cooking class supported by another amazing young woman while socializing with others whose experiences are similar. It is a youth group with old high school friends and outings for independence. Its singing group, yoga class and drama group, L'arche Fredericton gatherings, and therapeutic riding. It's extra time to slow down or sleep in or cancel when it's not going to work today. It's slowly and intentionally looking like a life she can thrive in with continued areas for growth, improvement, supports, and change. It is becoming Maya's life as she adds color by color, "bird by bird".  Of course, we are always drawn back into the questions about the future. Sometimes the task can seem so daunting or overwhelming that we land in that state of freeze like Anne's brother.  We are led away from the headlights and into the darker unknown spaces where we may want to know how it will turn out if we will meet the deadline, and what the current situation will look like next year or in five years.  We want to know if the systems or circumstances will improve. Wondering too if we will find the time or the resources as we project into the future and to where our attention is stranded in the present.  We may all find ourselves here in search of insight, long-term solutions, and reassurances about the future at times. But we can come back to our own remaining voice of reason or the comforting words of another, " It's alright, we are taking this situation,  circumstance by circumstance, love by love, or step by step, and for most of us we will live an entire life, a beautiful life in this very way, "bird by bird".

How It Feels

 "It doesn't matter how it looks. It only matters how it feels." Lauren Sapala

I saw my first full moon/lunar eclipse this week.  With a front-row seat, early Tuesday morning, I felt a child-like giddiness as I caught just the toenail of this full moon illuminated before it all went to shade. It wasn't how the dark of the moon with the eclipse looked. It was how it felt to witness the timing of this when it only occurs once a year at a particular moment. The earth, moon, and sun aligning so closely to create this shadow show.

This wasn't my only first this week. Participating in an ongoing writing workshop, we were asked to follow a new poem form, the Panoume.   I had never done this before and she guided us to think of something that makes us smile for the first line, our thought or reaction to it in the second, what happened because of it, and a line to wrap up the four-line stanza.  The rest of the poem is numbered and many of the first four lines repeat throughout and new ones are added to make this spoken word poem.  I surprised myself with how much I enjoyed this poetry form. A lot of my writing is not done from a feeling of bliss even though it feels good to write in any form and release it, I do spend time rereading and thinking about how it looks as a finished piece before I put it in this space.  Trying something new and leaving it as it was the first time I did it felt like flow.

Thinking of how firsts feel, it occurred to me that most come about from intentionality,  unlike the firsts that multiply in earlier periods of our lives or the incidental ones like the eclipse. There is a feeling to firsts that make us feel alive and stir our creativity. To others, they may look like ordinary experiences. To us, they can feel exhilarating and life-giving.

This summer I wanted to remember turning fifty-three with a photo. Of course, I was concerned with how this would look since getting my picture taken feels vulnerable to me somehow. So I asked my daughter to take a few and scrutinized each that she showed me until we settled on one for keeping and I used it for my social media platforms.  During the moments trying for a photo, my dog Shanti made an appearance and proceeded to lick my entire face.  My daughter continued to take pictures. When I look at this photo now, it is the one that feels good and feels right.  It feels like bliss, easy and mask-free.

 We have been so conditioned with messages that tell us that it only matters how it looks and not how it feels that we carry this into our lives like the very heavy weight it can be at times.  We begin to believe that what we show the world is more important than what our own experiences of the world really feel like for us. Showing strength when we feel weak stops others from being able to support us. Saying yes when we feel a hard no can cross boundaries and force us to use the energy we need to feel rested and whole.  

Right now I am writing to you in real-time.  I haven't critiqued,  edited, or changed anything. In fact, I had a completely different piece of writing ready to share but this jumble of thoughts and sharing my Panoume was what felt right.   I hope you are inspired to feel into the moments of your own life regardless of what they look like because as emphatically as I can, I want to be your reminder as was Lauren for me, it ONLY matters how it feels.   The poem below comes from a space of bliss and I loved every minute of the moments it describes and the moments of making it a poem. 

Seeing Shanti sprawled out on the bottom of my bed when waking.

As though he owns the space of rest for himself

I feel comforted by his ease as we lock eyes and he extends his body towards me

So much love where the sleeping dog lies

As though he owns the space of rest for himself

His eyes plead for that first-morning belly rub

So much love where the sleeping dog lies

When he hears the footsteps coming to retrieve him for his walk

His eyes plead for that first-morning belly rub

I lean into his sweet gaze and he leans into my touch

When he hears the footsteps coming to retrieve him for his walk

We cuddle here hoping not to be noticed for a few short moments of rest longer

I lean into his sweet gaze and he leans into my touch

I feel comforted by his ease as we lock eyes and he extends his body towards me

We cuddle here hoping to not be noticed for a few short moments of rest longer

Seeing my dog Shanti sprawled out on the bottom of my bed when waking. 

Impermanence

"Sunsets and Sunrises will paint stories across the sky. Day and Night will flip the switch again and again. The Sun and Moon will change places, repeating this sequence over and over, until it is over." Ameera Essabar

 November usually brings with it darker days, winds, and rains. Conditions  less favorable for most living things that have been flourishing in the past months. Any that remain hanging on take a tremendous hit with the first frost. It is always still a surprise when we see the mums on the step instantly brown or the last perennial wither away and become dormant.   Death in nature can be so predictable, so surprising, such a dichotomy. Natural and absurd, easeful and difficult. I think watching the process of the earth's vibrant beauty be released, we fear our own light and vibrancy will become dimmed in the darkness that ensues. The weather recently has been extraordinary and rare for the area where I live. Each day seems borrowed.  I find myself checking on the roses that remain on the bush in my garden in the morning to see if they have made it another night.  Knowing that their impermanence is real makes their extended life such a gift.    

My phone notification was waiting for me but I put it off until morning, having a gut feeling that it may not be good news.  I had inquired with my colleague and friend about another teacher's health and hoped she would have heard something different. Instead, she confirmed that her prognosis was not good.  By morning, her words were that she had passed away. I only knew of this sweet teacher, partner, mother, and friend but shared a kinship from afar as she was a stepmom to an autistic adult daughter.   Many of my Facebook friends worked with her and there wasn't one who didn't also have a close connection with her. The heavy grief they were all feeling was palpable and with all their words of loss and grief shared on social media, I could feel the darkness of November creep in. But when I made my way into my day it manifested in a different way and the words and feelings below flowed. 

" Today felt different somehow. My feet attached to the floor beneath as though it were the first time they did so.  I looked around my space and thought, I get to be here today.  With each task or movement, I had done a million times before, I felt these words, this feeling, this thought.  It felt like putting on that well-worn cardigan and greeting it as a best friend.   I get to feel the comfort and loss of being alive today. I get to witness the uncertainties with curiosity and without burdening myself with control. Today I get to see, hear and feel my loved ones, brush shoulders with strangers, hear the hum of the washing machine, the clank of the dryer, and my dog scratching at the door.  I get to feel frustrated and take for granted that there will be another moment when it will be obsolete.   I get to see my reflection and witness my physical presence in the mirror staring back at me. I get to make a plethora of choices about my present reality. Whatever feels nourishing, I get to experience the sensations from all of my senses that only come with having a physical form. "I get", rolls easily off my tongue today and leaves my heart bursting in my chest. I get to feel the absurdity of joy existing simultaneously with the loss of another. Today I honor my aliveness. I want to remember this feeling, bottle these fleeting moments of gratitude.  I want it to seep into my conscience and velcro to my brain that I have been given the gift of another day.  I want to promise or pledge that I will not forget this when I am deep in worry or searching for the light when it feels dark. But I know the emptiness of this promise when the veil or cloak of humanness takes its place comfortably over my form again in its own time. Probably in the wake and urgency of ordinary living. But for today or maybe only for this brief moment, my aliveness is honored with the gift of understanding that "I get to" and I will be walking through my day carrying a heavy heart for those who do not have this same privilege  and a lightness of spirit for the honoring of being able to wrap my arms around life for yet another day with a fragile and tender awareness."

This moment had me wishing we could carry the impermanence of life with us like a recipe for living. Maybe invest ourselves in the reality, as we do the needs of a newborn. Instead of putting down this awareness and walking away from its proven reality over and over again.  If we could find ourselves visiting its possibility, our own mortality, and the impermanence of all we love, I wonder if it might change the way we live even just for this moment. 

Transformations

 "We are the alchemists of our own transformations. The providers of the magic in our creation of moments and deeper awareness that may also be the alchemy of another who bears witness". cmh

After a yoga and meditation practice, the sweet notion came to me to crawl back into my bed with a steaming cup of hot tea, my pen, and my notebook in hand. The plan was to scratch down whatever popped up in my awareness today, which has become my practice these days with fewer opportunities to write, I grab a moment, get it down and release myself from the ownership of the words connected to thought.   For a moment I closed my eyes and nestled into the softness above, below, and surrounding me with a deep physical and mental release.  It was a delicious pause from my usual intentions in the morning and the rare gift of not having to be anywhere just yet with my companion for the morning taking an extra few minutes of sleep herself. With pen in hand and an array of thoughts paralyzing the movement of it toward the paper, I stared out of my bedroom window. The view landed on the largest and oldest maple tree.  The realization of its barren branches was a bit jarring since I had intended to watch the process unfold and now the tree was devoid of even a leaf.  This is the alchemy of the tree in Fall. We can't actually witness all of the leaves as they change and release and then suddenly the transformation is complete. The naked tree also transforms the space around, opening for a wider perspective of the entirety of the yard. I have always been in awe of the intelligence of trees to know when it is time to let go of their leaves and I  see them as the real alchemists of nature.

When I was six years old and attending  my first year of elementary school in Marysville, in a building that has now been transformed into a community center known as The Ville, I can remember being gathered in the library, to hear a story about Fall and then talk about how the leaves change color and eventually fall from the trees.  Seeing this more as magic than science, I paid closer attention than usual and when the teacher asked for a volunteer to share their understanding and summarize for our peers, I boldly offered. Coming from the shy girl who would rather become part of the inset bookshelves and remain invisible, the simple but eloquent words of my six-year-old self were nothing less than alchemy and if no one was paying close attention they would have missed this small step of my transformation out of my shell. 

Alchemy is defined as a seemingly magical process of transformation, or creation  Like the example of my backyard tree, there are so many times that transformations are significant, obvious, and maybe even life-changing and we can be left with jaw-dropping wonder about how this process occurred and our own explanation may be that there was some unexplained phenomenon that brought this about, a magic that we may have stopped believing in long ago. Most of the time personal transformations are more realistic like my experience in the library that day.  They are a result of the small steps taken, the practices we are dedicated to, the balance of input and output, effort, and ease. The process may be messy at times.  Often things break down or fall apart and then we gain a better understanding of how to create or transform something new and often better than before. Not all transformations for ourselves or the world we live in are creating new or better. Many currently are transformations that are taking us in the wrong direction, undoing progress or effective changes already made. Others are moving us away from growth and insight.   Contemplating alchemy and the process of our own transformation, the "seemingly magic" part of the process often gets lost for us and we miss the opportunity to celebrate where this journey has taken us.   The example of my own writing process is that I don't often witness the dedication and growth that comes just from picking up my pen,  and not from having a  consistent readership or encouragement but each time I write, seeking my own inner words of encouragement,  I become the alchemist of my personal transformation.  I am taking the lead,  as the true alchemist does,  which is my dedication to ordinary practices of creating, rest pauses, and  breath which becomes the matter that is accelerating all of our experiences of magic,  and turning it into the gold of growth. This growth fuels our light and healing like my small practice of pen to paper. Creating is always first and foremost for ourselves and for me a way to continue to acquaint myself with the woman and child inside.  Alchemy is created by and for us through all the steps that lead to transformation.  When we commit to a breath practice that we know transforms our anxiety into ease, not once but every time we need it.   When we practice combining the essential oils that somehow offer us relief from feelings of stress and come back to it over and over again. Whatever you have found that brings alchemy to your soul will be your transforming power.    Using what we know or what has been offered to us as science and a little magic,  to provide a shift in our physical, mental or emotional health, we are staying true to the alchemist within. 

Maybe you will find a moment this weekend where you too can honor all the steps you have taken, all the ways that you have transformed and grown and for a moment you will see how seemingly magic your own transformation continues to be and just like the naked tree, you will transform the space around you and open yourself to a wider perspective, to the entirety of your lived experience.

The Ripple Effect

"Just as ripples spread out when a single pebble is dropped into the water, the actions of individuals can have far-reaching effects." Dalai Lama

As soon as I open my eyes and it registers that I am indeed at my parent's cottage on the beautiful North Lake, I anticipate getting in my kayak in the early morning stillness. Often with a companion but both quiet enough so as to not wake anyone else as we tiptoe about preparing to go.   Once we are on the lake, we marvel at the appropriateness of the term,  just like glass, as my mother often said with pride about her little spot of the water.  There is no movement and one can see themselves reflecting in the stillness.   As the first paddle dips in, a ripple is created in the smoothness. This ripple moves out away from the boat extending farther than the eye can see and back to a mirrored surface of calm.   When we are in the center of the lake, we stop paddling and sit savoring a warm drink.  The nearby loon creates the next ripple as she dips below the surface. When she emerges her haunting call ripples across the entire body of water to be answered by another loon just out of sight.  Missing this sweet refuge in the Fall of the year as this would be the time we would frequent it most, I enjoy savoring this experience  I would have had numerous times over the years.   Sitting with the memory and the sensorial recall of my body and mind, it felt like  I was actually there. Although the ocean is where my heart is happiest, the calm of freshwater spaces cannot be matched and each ripple created by myself or nature as we paddle about brings a quality of presence that can't be found in many other places.

The lake is not the only place I have witnessed the beauty and power of the ripple in memory or real-time recently.  I watched Hollywood Stargirl with my daughters and we fell in love with the sequel to our original love of Stargirl.   The ripples she creates, by just being, are highlighted and unpacked so authentically.   Whether it was the grumpy older man she befriended in her new apartment complex or the spark created between her and her love interest or the woman she admires for her past artistry as a singer that everyone else views in a negative light,  or how she holds space for her mom and the challenges of being a single parent trying to pursue her own dreams or the subsequent connection she makes with her love interest's brother who is in need of her charisma, empathy, and confidence to fulfill his passion of creating a film,  she admirably moves with grace, love, and mercy throughout the film embodying the ripple effect.   Unlike other films with a character coming of age, there is very little drama, and a lot of ease and you fall in love with this character who is so true to herself that she sends ripples throughout her community that have others rising up to meet her wherever she lands. The fictional plot is not the only part of this film that creates ripples. Perhaps the storyline and unprecedented theme are a result of the female director and her intention to bring a more real script to life rather than striving for a box office seller.   Setting in motion a ripple in the movie world where women can be represented with more honesty and movies can tell real stories from a female perspective and experience.

Ripples are what many of us would like to think we are creating in the world and with the people around us by being true to ourselves.   Is there someone in your life right now who you associate with creating a ripple effect for you?  Possibly yourself?    In my writing, I have been generous with words towards my spouse but I often forget about the importance of the power of this face-to-face.  A while back he discovered a new recipe for a delicious lentil stew that was such a big hit with everyone in the house that we began to request it on a weekly basis. Probably because of the comfort it brings to each person who eats it, tasting like a warm hug.  As with most things, he puts his love into whatever he creates.   This little ripple he has orchestrated to send love and care to us,  but Mark is also my best example of making positive ripples in my life and wherever he goes.  He too shows up as himself in every situation and I have witnessed the effect this has on others.  His genuine interest in knowing someone else and discussing thoughts on just about any issue with an openness of heart makes most exhale deeply around him.  There is no pretense, just all of his imperfect self.   I used to think he should hold back a bit and let others take the lead but I now realize that would just not be who he is and he can be so confident with the way he shows up in the world that others feel that permission to do the same.   I share this with you, not to inflate my spouse, although that is probably a good thing too at times,   to extend the examples of the power of the ripple in nature, art, and our own personal lives and connections.     

We aren't always fortunate enough to witness the ripples and their effect.  We can become frustrated in our workplace, in parenting our children, and orchestrating bigger changes in our communities with policies, practices, and ways of support and we forget the powerful presence we have when we just bring ourselves and our respect to every situation.  When we share our joy and our ease, when we bring a new perspective,  refuse to listen to the chatter, and disallow the opinions of others to fuel our personal experiences. All too often the ripples that we intentionally or unintentionally create leave others smothered by our anger, drenched in our anguish, steeped in our fear, or unprocessed feelings or experiences. We have probably all been ambushed by a coworker, family member, or stranger whose energy or way of handling a situation has rippled into our own and if we are not mindful, we carry this home to our families or onto our next interaction. At times we are also responsible for sending this infamous ripple.

So many meaningful and powerful ripples are created through artistic expression. Poetry, prose, musical lyrics, paintings, and theatre.  It brings to mind the ripple of the music as well from the beloved Hollywood Stargirl with her rendition of Brian Wilson's, Love and Mercy. Written thirty-four years ago and it is still sending ripples like the one to my heart and life with the compelling lyrics bringing to light our need for more love and mercy. As Grace sings in the movie. "I was lying in my room and the news came on TV, A lotta people out there hurtin', And it really scares me. Love and mercy, that's what you need tonight. So, love and mercy to you and your friends tonight." 

 In this world of cancel culture, where we are tempted to call out everyone's missteps and mistakes or use individuals as scapegoats often for collective deeper societal issues and structures,  we need to revisit dear Brian Wilson's impassioned message and begin or continue to send out all the love and mercy we can muster with our own presence so the ripples we create encourage others to do the same.  Then as our metaphorical paddle dips into our own mirror of calm, we will release our individual ripple that collectively may become  part of the wave needed to bring higher vibrations of energy for all of us.