It is my life. It underlies my life, under-lives it, connects all the threads, guides my day-to-day, moment-to-moment; there is not one aspect of my life that is uninvolved with, or unaffected by, spirit.

It brings me dreams and waking insights; floats me seagulls' feathers, or perfect-pointed red maple leaves; arranges an evening meeting between me and a young (deer) buck on a city sidewalk...

I would most like to teach others to love, to honour, and to forgive themselves. I would like to teach it because that has been key to turning my own life around.

How will I teach this? By walking the talk. Can there be a better or surer way?

I am at my most powerful when I am fully present.
I am fully present when I accept full responsibility for who and where I am in this and every given moment.
Whenever I accept full responsibility for my life just as it is, there is no victim me...

This is one thing I have learned: that every time I blame someone else for where I am; every time I find myself saying I can't help it or It's not my fault; every time, I feel the power seeping out of me. And every time I remember myself, power comes back to me. It's as if when I'm being a victim, the creator me takes a back seat until the matter can settle itself. And when I remove the veil of victimhood from my eyes, the creator is right there, ready to take over again.


Power is being my authentic Self, daring to be who I am.

Power is owning that I am the creator of me, even when I'd rather blame the way I turned out on someone or something else.

Power is letting go of control and manipulation as a way of managing my life---manhandling has a habit of getting in the way of things.

Power is stopping to listen and feel into a situation before taking action. And when I'm ready, power is setting something in motion, and then stepping back to let it happen.

And power is looking at the thing I created and seeing that it is good---it is what it is; and power is also realizing that if anything about my creation doesn't feel right now or at any other time, I can go in and change it. I am the artist.

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Rule of thumb: shift when the terrain demands it...


 
...or when you feel you need a change, a kickstart, a challenge.

At the moment, I'm gearing up for NaNoWriMo, which starts November 1st, 12:00 a.m. Whoohoo! Now there's a ride!

No. But then again, yes. Well, maybe... Oh, I don't know---what age are you supposed to act when you're ageless? :)

Where I am. Wherever life takes me.

I tried to move to the west coast (Vancouver) when I was 20 or so. Didn't work out for various reasons (my girlfriend was homesick and I didn't want to stay 'alone'; neither of us had a job yet; family opposition). Planned to move to the Okanagan (interior BC) a couple of years later when my sister got a teaching job there, but by the time she was ready to leave I had met someone special… The thing is, if I had moved either of those times I would have missed meeting the man. (Gasp!) Of course, I would have also missed him dying several years later…

Years later I 'followed the money' to booming Alberta (Calgary, then Edmonton). In Edmonton, I decided to go back to school. After my masters, I took the lure of a doctoral fellowship to Victoria. I'm done with my studies now but here I still am—not in Vancouver where I thought I wanted to live all those years ago, but on the Island. Even better. Feels like home.

Here's the thing, though: everywhere I have ever lived (except perhaps the town I grew up in) felt like home while I lived there. This did not mean that life went smoothly for me—far from it. I may have been at home in terms of the physical places I lived, but I wasn't at peace, not in the inner-self way. Here in Victoria, at last, I have grown to feel at home with myself. And I have come to see that everything that happened in my life, I chose, and chose, and chose—even when I didn't think I was choosing.

Is this my home for the rest of my life? God knows—or not. Personally, I don't think it's that important where my physical home is; what's important is that my heart and I are in the same place, that I'm not longing to be somewhere I'm not, that I'm not afraid to follow where my heart wants to take me. "Whither thou goest I will go," said Ruth in the Bible to her mother-in-law Naomi. I'm not Ruth for nothing. Only I'm not saying those words to someone outside of myself; I'm saying them to my heart.



 

Breathe.

Walk. In nature. Along the beach. In gardens. Among trees and flowering shrubs. To the shops or library. To the clinic. To nowhere. To engage (or not) with fellow beings on the path.

Read. Physics. Mysteries. Mystics. Poetry. Classics. Stories. Children's lit. Whatever the moment draws me into.

Write. In my journal. On my blogs. At DD. Wherever. Whatever occurs. Slowly, diving deeply into the feeling of whatever I'm writing about. Fast as I can, to block out the internal editor that tells me: Don't go there. Truly good. Truly bad. Without judgment (hopefully).

Clean. Wash the dishes. Scrub the kitchen floor. Sanitize the bathroom. Take a shower or long bath.

Make phone calls. To my best friend. To my mother. To my sister. To another sister. To you (?).

Exercise. Cycle. Jog. Do yoga. Use free weights. Walk (which has its own paragraph above, but sometimes I walk purely for exercise). Dance (which will have its own paragraph below, because it gives me such joy).

Put on music, whatever appeals in the moment (so much to choose from).

Dance to whatever music is playing. Dance to whatever music I'm hearing in my head even when I haven't put any on.


Do any or all of the above. The main thing is, to de-stress I need to get out of the routine, out of the ordinary, take myself out of the situation. Change something.  Move the body.



 

My first pick in a pinch tends to be Indian classical, e.g., a raga played on bansuri (bamboo flute) with tabla accomaniment and perhaps another primary instrument as well (santoor, or jaltarang). But lately I've been discovering how much else there is out there, in the way of beautiful and soul-soothing music. So let me just post a few clips I've found calming recently.

Me. My eyes. How I choose to interpret what's in front of me.

A week or so ago I had a dream about leaks in the ceiling of my apartment---pails everywhere, towels sopping up the overflow. In my dream I woke up in the middle of the night to find the pail I'd placed under the burnt-out ceiling light in my bedroom was almost full of a viscous, oil-like black substance. I took the pail into the bathroom and placed it with other pails and towels already there, then watched in horror when a little lamb came up to drink from it. I waited, sure the lamb must die. But it kept drinking, and after a while I went closer to look into the pail. It was water in there, pure, clear.

In the dream and after I woke up, I was left to wonder: At what point did that vile- looking substance in the pail become water, or was it always that? Did the evil, the ugliness, live only in my perception, in my bedroom (asleep, unaware) eyes?

I know only this, that where I saw waste, poison, the lamb saw sustenance, holy water.