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Two Rivers

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I stand at the junction
of two rivers
one flows towards my home
the other to the ocean

I have a boat
which one do I choose?

the ocean – sweet, salty, strong, mysterious
terrifying

washing my heart with salt water
cleansing my skin, pores, eyes, nose, ears, mouth

but I am going home
to the softness of the lakes
and the softness of my mother’s touch

where I will be held
by my family
by the rolling hills
by the kind forests

by the warmth of knowing a place and being known

I am going home
to where the winters are colder
and the fires are brighter
and life isn’t complete without a beaver tail

to nanas and pas
and cousins now married
and I’ve missed it all
but no longer

because I have my boat
and I am going home.

 

To learn more about my 108 Poetry Challenge or to donate click here.

The Temple

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The roses still bloom by the temple
As if unaware of the tragedy next door

The temple that held the fire,
It keeps the fire of our hearts,
And kept the forest safe that night.

A community brought together
A man with a boat brought us the ladder
Many men and women fought the fire
Many women and men prayed

Stay together, love each other.

Don’t pretend to be who you are not.

The temple burns and we remember who we are.

She who created the rose, created the fire.

 

To learn more about my 108 Poetry Challenge or to donate click here.

Freedom

 

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Trapped
In a small room
With a stale smell

I want to go out!
I want to meet the people in the fields
I want to smell the freshness in the air
I want to be free

But what is freedom?
And where, exactly, can it be found?

I’ve had moments on vacation
At the cottage
With spaciousness and beauty
Where suddenly I feel trapped

And other moments
Working hard
In the garden
Feeling free

So where does it exist?  And how does it appear?

It seems to come when my mind stops grumbling about the harshness and awfulness of life
And my hearts sings clearly of the beauty

Determined to be free
That’s why I’m living
Determined to be free.

Stillness

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There is a stillness that underpins all the little daily miracles,
and underpins all art.

It underpins all love,
all beauty,
all relaxation.

All hope,
and kindness.

All understanding,
inspiration,
and peace.

It is hidden on the moon and deep within your heart.

And it can be hard to find,
But it is always there,
Right below the surface.

Waiting to be drawn out,
By the ear within the ear,
The eye beneath the eye.

Breathe,
and you can tap in.

Breathe,
feel the stillness,
draw it out.

I live here.

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Pebbled beach.
Warmth.
The mountains across the lake are softened by haze.

The pebbles dig into my back and bum as I lie down,
I sit up.
A cool breeze sweeps over my skin,
the waves of a boat wake lap against the shore.
I smell diesel.

It feels like I’m at the cottage but it’s the end of my work day and I live here.

It’s been incredibly hot the past few weeks – I feel I’ve moved to the desert.  The grass is dying.  The apple trees cry for water.  Desert doesn’t work for me.  After 2 days in Nevada and Utah my whole body softened as we drove into the mountains of Colorado – trees, humidity, I can breath again.

And as the coolness of the evening sweeps in I can feel my body softening once more and memories flood in.  Diving off the dock at Rangers, hiking Cape Spear alone, running up the freshly cut road in Bhutan, searching for banana slugs with my cousins in the redwoods.  Pieces of my life.  Pieces of what brought me here.

The small birds flit in and out of the young poplar trees beside the water and I thought that I had to use post-it notes and logic to remember my life.  Chronological order.  Seriousness.

But no.
I simply sit on the beach and the memories flood in.
Washing over me until I become whole.

Journal Writing

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I race to finish Natalie Goldberg’s Long Quiet Highway – it is so beautiful to read and there are many books on my nightstand to be read.  I devour the memoire and then as I finish suddenly I look around and feel like I’ve lost a friend.

I try to read her first book Writing Down the Bones then decide to simply read Long Quiet Highway again.  I get about a sentence in and realize I can’t read – I need to write.

I head to the beach – backpack packed: books, journal, computer.   An hour and a half until dinner – an hour and a half to write.  I sit down at the patio furniture on the grassy part above the beach.  A part of me wishes I could go to a café in the city to write.  I catch the thought and return to my breath.  Cities… to go to a dance class, to have an easy morning drinking coffee and reading on the sofa. Caught it – breath, waves, wind chimes, back to the present, back to the blank page…

When I was in university I loved to dance and the only place I knew to do it was at the bar.  That’s where everyone seemed to be heading anyways so I’d put on an outfit that I could move in and go dance.  If the music was good and there was space on the floor I’d make sure not to drink too much because I knew it would mess up my moves and as everyone else loved life wasted, I was high on the dance.

Then in Thunder Bay – bands touring across Canada would have to stop there because it’s the only city between Sault Ste Marie and Winnipeg so on Tuesdays or Wednesdays there’d be great shows in town.  The live music was great and the crowd was the same – students, artists – drunk, picking up, rocking out and I’d be the one with the big moves at the side of the stage because that’s where the space was.  Elbows out, knees high. Dance.

And I’ve been thinking about my transition this fall from this small community in the mountains to the city and I’ve been wondering why.  Why am I moving to a new city at the darkest time of the year?  How can this possibly be a good idea? And finally realized it’s to dance.

Since those years of dancing at the bar I’ve found “my people” in the world of dance.   The others who were most likely at some point the crazy dancer in the corner – who love to move and who want to move alcohol free.  Who like to dance on Sunday mornings or Wednesday evenings and to do the big moves.

Breath, waves, sunshine, mountains.  I return to where I am now.  Where someone has prepared a beautiful meal and all I have to do is show up.  There are beautiful things here and there will be beautiful things in the city.  Wherever I am – all I have to do is show up.

 

Experiments with God

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Recently we had a fire at Yasodhara Ashram where I live.  The roof of our Temple was burnt and it has had a big impact on the community.  Now we are in the assessment phase – asking is it structurally sound?  What is the best way to rebuild?  What has to come down before we can build up?

I have also been reading a book about the coup in Chile and all the awful things that the human mind is capable of manifesting.  And it’s got me thinking that there must be something bigger – there must be something more than emergencies and torture and lies.  And its rekindled the desire in me to connect to this something more.

The main symbol that we use for the Divine at the Ashram is the Light and we talk about the light of understanding and the light of wisdom.  We also refer to the symbols from the Hindu tradition – Krishna – the blue god – a playful trickster who plays the flute beautifully and will steal your heart, Tara, who is young and playful and brings compassion, and Durga, a fierce feminine force that rides a lion and kills the demon of egoism and pride.  These symbols represent the particular qualities of the Divine personified so they are easier for the human mind to grasp.

And so my question is – how do I create a personal connection to something as intangible as Light or as foreign as a blue flute playing god?  How can I bring this something more into my life?

I start where I began.  My first experiences of feeling really connected to something greater than myself occurred in nature, in movement and in listening or participating in amazing music.  And these are three ways that continue to help me to feel connected.  So I start with what I know and go for walks, spend time at the beach and remember to play music for myself.

And then these other ideas that are less familiar become trials – experiments in my life.  Can I see the light of understanding in myself? In others?  And does this really help me to feel connected or does it become an intellectual game??

And where does playful compassion come into my day?  And what happens if I write a letter of all my sorrows addressed to the blue god? How do I feel afterwards?  And what changes in my day if I visualize a fierce warrior riding on a lion walking along beside me as I work ready to pounce on judgmental thought patterns?

Trial and error.  Experimenting and figuring out what helps me to feel connected and what doesn’t. What works and who works?  And how do I keep this connection alive?

Because what I’m learning is that it’s easy to say that I want to stay connected to this something more and it’s easy to feel the connection at the perfect moment but remembering that I want it and keeping it alive day to day is very challenging.

And so my experiments continue.  No conclusive results yet but there is exciting quality to the mystery of the search.  What is the essence of drifting piano melodies?  What is the essence of the stillness in the forest?  And what is the purpose of my life?

Be here now: battles with the Daydreaming Mind

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It’s typical for me – when a transition is coming up – to live in the future.  I remember my last 5 months working in the non-profit sector was a bit of a struggle.  I knew I was leaving and a part of me left early.

Now hilariously – in the exact inverse situation – going back to the non-profit sector, and again the transition is 5 months away – and a part of me has already left.

How do I stay here?  How can I be grateful for what I have now?  Why do I glamorize the next step instead of seeing what the present has to offer?

Intellectually – I know that there are many components that I will miss – moving away from Yasodhara Ashram to a city.  I will miss living in nature.  I will miss the community here, the support that I have, the beautiful people.  I will miss the way I am able to contribute to this place.  The way I am able to dream and plan and innovate, to try to do things differently, to try to do things better.  I will miss the feeling of being a contributor to a community I deeply care for.

I am reminded of this today as I sit with someone who is leaving soon and listen to all that she’s learned being here, listening to all that the community has given her.   This is my work, to be a part of that, to help people enter in and find their own way in.

It’s only when day dreaming happens and the part of me that sees the limitations here comes out to play.  Then I feel lost like a leaf in the storm – subject to limitation with no choice.

But really I am more like a fish in a storm – there are some undeniable currents but as I encounter each one I have choice.  Will I swim against the current or go with it?  Or will I ferry across in search of the next stream?  My energy is limited but in every moment there is a choice.

So where do I want my energy to go?  And how can I direct the currents of my thoughts?

I know that I am where I need to be – that my work here is not yet finished.  Some of my projects are at the exciting beginning stage and need the 5 months to be played out.

And although there are challenges here there is also support. And it is my job to ask for that support instead of day dreaming about an ideal future that is somehow free from challenge.

Be here now – three simple words and yet an incredibly challenging task.  But as I learn to ask for help and embrace what I am faced with today – my world can open up and become beautiful now.

Telling a Story

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I let go of the need to be seen and tune into the music,
I tune into what it brings out in me.

I dance a story.

I am running distressed,
There is sadness.
I pause and look away, shield my face with my hand,
Run again.

I do not build up walls but stay with the feeling,
And I’m not so much running from it but running with it.

The song shifts to something fast,
The dancers around me tune into the new rhythm.

My story is not over,
and so I pause,
I stay still,
Feeling the rhythm,
Feeling the sadness,
Not running from it.

And then it lifts,
and joy pours in.

I run again – this time giggling,
We run together.

What is this story of my heart?
What is this sorrow and this joy?

I let go of the need to be seen and I become free.