The Bones of Winter

The last day of February rolls out.
Chilly. Clear. Familiar.

Patches of snow.  Patches of dirt.   A quiet, bored energy prevails.

Dullness. Ordinariness. A day easily forgotten as so many other unremarkable days blur into one another.

But what of it?

The stars remain behind the clouds.   Life stirs deep in the soil unseen by the naked eye.   Velocity and time continue their kinky relationship.   Nothing is truly more or less dull in this day, than what we so easily celebrate as the glory of a summer month.

February merely demands more of us, by offering less.

It prompts us to remain curious about the journey. Poised for the shoe to drop. Tensions of a waning winter build. In prairie cold places, this is also known as cabin fever build up.

It is a stark offering.   Tired bare branches reach long, sinewy fingers; intricate silhouettes of their winter bones against the fleshy sky.

Oh, I do long for the warmth of sun on my cheek.   My eyes yearn now for the pop of spring blossoms,  like cotton candy for the retina. To unburden oneself from the weight of wool jackets.... the sheer lightness of being wearing one's own skin again!

Yet, February is the anchor that holds us steadfast to winter moments.   An undervalued stillness.   A quiet that regenerates us.   IT serves to both prepare and amplify our joyful bursting forth into a different kind of feverish pitch-----
SPRING!

Perhaps February is an unsung hero that showcases so beautifully the power of patience.  Stillness.
Mining the dream.

It is the bare bones of winter which gifts us the distinct and delicate birthing of spring.

Wherever  you  go,  there  you  are.


I met my shadow self again in the most unlikely of places.   A triangle of deep grey luxurious bamboo lycra.

'What, what, now?... ' You say.

For me it's more, “Ack!”  a la  Bill the Cat!

The lovely Couture Designer, Genevieve, instructs us on the first day of a 5 weekend workshop to create  our own garment. 
            Her prompts include--”hold the fabric,

                        go with the flow,
                                                  feel the bias,
                                                                          the weight,

                           feel the energy—f  l  o  w   with it...”

Sounds simple enough.

But, after my 1st pin is secured in the mannequin, I find I am on a frozen ice jam more than the relaxed river of silk  I imagined.   The fabric tangles in my fingers as my mind tangles competing thoughts.

First I willfully force the direction and the shape of material- -the   fabric  resists.

It's an epic power struggle already.

And there I am,  observing myself mocked by this unassuming  triangle  of  cloth.

The deceptive simplicity of this act, draping fabric, allows me the clarity to see the four deadly horsemen of my inner apocalypse.

Clinging,  controlling,  comparing  and  complicating   everything!
Suddenly, a new fifth horseman gallops towards the posse-- self criticism.


Perhaps  you  have encountered such bandits yourself?

The antidote to their poisoning effect?

Chill.   Relax.    Flow.    Allow.    Yield.    Trust thyself.

Effort without tension.

Deep breath.

Unpin. 

Start Again.
(This time, side step the dung left by the horsemen.)

When I do relax, forget my agenda and let my limbs and instincts weave together with the sensual flow of fabric  (rather than my signature overthinking) the fabric and I both soften, like intimate dance partners  and begin to trust one another.   Together we begin to mold a dress form.

The sun is out  and glints even brighter against the mirror of my inner reflections.  Humbling lessons can step on our well shod feet in the most surprising encounters.  Observing oneself in our own learning curves illuminates our deeply help patterns—unless we are able to hold beginners mind, without ego.

Not generally my  strength.

Once I allowed the process, the process allowed for my inner flow and easily dissolved all the clinging and controlling  into a refreshing drink of creativity; and time flew.

To visit the sublime couture designs of Ms. Genevieve herself,
visit her website at: http://www.genevievegrahamclothing.com/     A revelation in hand sewn originals.

So many  paths  to  brilliance.

Undim your light.

nh 2017 

I rather enjoy hiding out when the world is noisy and mayhem ensues.   The dizzying days leading up to Christmas  encircling us  like a spiral staircase, spinning, heady;  is the perfect time to seek refuge.  The  brief days and long nights of winter.   I like the focus night time brings, and as the darkness begins at 4.30...there is lots of it to be savoured.

The permission to sleep. The permission to rest.  Delicious.

And what better way to curl up and slow down, then with a book.   A wandering, wondering, wild tour of unknown territory; down the rabbit hole of wooly imaginings.  Or deft learning.

Books are intimacies we explore, relationships we dive into, with a clear beginning,  middle and  end.  A good book is like a great friend or love affair.  One is always happy to see them and it's almost  always equally hard to say good bye. 

Bittersweet partings catch your breath. 

At times constant companions, some you crack the cover and never put down again; others you flip through and push aside with disdain.  Occasionally, you may even go through a stack at your bedside; on hand for a brief dalliance at your whim, unaffected if you are reading other tomes.

Some reread books many times.

Some never finish them.... Abandoned.   Heartbroken.  A cold shudder shimmies through you at the thought of unread pages.

The beginning, like a worthy courtship.

A flirtation catches your eye.  A flashy cover perhaps.  Alliteration, or a metaphor, you simply cannot resist. Curiousity builds, a mysterious attraction..."  Why this story?  Why not the one with the clever booksleeve? The promise of an exciting plot? " No, no, it's definitely the quiet, plain bookish one in the corner that  appeals most.

Then comes the excitement of the first date!

Your thoughts preoccupied all day by the object of your affection, waiting anxiously for that bewitching hour  to  gently touch  for the first time.   Fingertips barely skim the smooth surface.    The deep inhale for the smell of your new book.  The first clean page turn.   Shudders.

And, like many love affairs, the ending comes all too quickly.

The writing was on the wall, you could feel the relationship thinning out through your fingers, lopsided, top heavy, the foundation eroded.

Reflecting back, perhaps  it was about the time you spilled tomato juice on it's pages, unable to forgive your carelessness; or the flashing, dynamic prose, once such a vibrant challenge to decipher, until it cruelly pointed out your stupidity.   It's unpredictable nature left you ragged and tense.

Perhaps there was a crisis when they realized you were reading other books as well, and they weren't into your lending library lifestyle.

Regardless,  however they end,  closing a beloved book is a heartache.

Sensing the end is  nigh results in sadness, stalling, avoidance.....

 There is a mourning period.  Forlorn regret, it is over.  Even deep  sorrow.

Weeks go by before one can even think of fondling another. Leafing through cheap paperbacks, a mere distraction. The wounds, the papercuts, the stains, torn pages, missing passages....what was it all about? You try and reread a chapter or two only to discover,

“I don't remember that! Or, I skipped this section it was too upsetting....”

When you are really lucky, there comes along an epic book, so beguiling, it holds you enraptured.

And yet, one can never regret the mis-education that some book folly brings.  It makes you the avid, discerning reader you are today.   Still passionate, still curious, longing for more  learning.

No one ever forgets their favourite reads.   Imprinted timelessly like fossils  in our soul.


                                                                                                      ***

The end of each year part of my  'ring in the new' ritual  is collecting a bevy of  titles  that thrill me. 
What will you be reading this new year? What reading did you celebrate in 2016?


.....and  by  my bedside waiting patiently for me:

Beyond Words: what animals think and feel   Carl Safina
Fearless      Arianna Huffington
My Life on the Road     Gloria Steinem
Sapiens: a brief history of humankind    Yuval Noah  Harari

Sublime, expansive, juicy, vexing reading to you all, in 2017!   Happy    New     Year!!     

Leonard Cohen.

How could you leave us now, this wretched week of
agonizing defeat

hate and ignorance rise in the south
confusion and disbelief

Leonard Cohen
How could you leave us behind in this world?

I cried out in denial when I heard the news
the smoke and embers  overthrew me

Did you know I loved you?
Touching the edge of  sin renewed me

Not this week.
It cannot be true,

to lose this soulful starlight?

'we don't want it darker.'..I call out in vain
another paradox,

you killed the flame--
or did you leave a crack in the universe, for the light to seep in

Hallelujah.

eery quiet blankets my world
remembrance:

           fallen soldiers,
                                   fallen poets,
                                                        fallen civilians....


I don't want it darker,
let's light another flame.


Hallelujah.


   
   11/11/2016
c. norma hoeppner

'Action is eloquence', as  Shakespeare  defines.

It stands to reason then, that the inverse is also true;  indecision is paralysis.  For example,  I have had upteen ideas for blogs in the past 3 months and yet, no posted output. Topics from competitiveness in the creative nature, to Olympian inspiration, to travel logs, reflections on aging, agism,  summertime blues, reviews of canadian cities, culture and landscape.   So, why the inactivity then?

A constricting combination of self doubt, (what's original? does it matter? Why am I doing this?) and faltering indecisiveness have restricted my writing muscles into a frozen cramp of creative rigor mortis. It could be called the infamous writer's block, but perhaps more fitting; indolence, distraction, and generalized anxiety and neurosis overwhelming the creative circuit.   Routine and discipline are important for writing, I am bad at both, at least with prose.

Sharing can feel unnerving and vulnerable at best, even privately and publicly? Well, let me tell you, it takes courage and a bit of steely resolve;  Or perhaps some would  rather say,  a bout of hapless foolishness and an oversized ego, to post your own words to the Black  hole of the cyber universe.

The frozen knot of my  immobilization comes in part from constant evaluating and comparison;
Is this of value?(how?) Does it matter? (to whom?) DO I and others even enjoy it? This last question is the only one I can adequately answer.  

(So please do comment,  cheer,  jeer, or complain...as civilly as possible, I humbly request of  you)

Naturally, certain subjects appeal more to some then others.  Some reflections hit the spot, others simply hit a nerve. It is always a matter of perspective.  Life itself is subjective.  Reading material, creative contributions, endeavours, what one deems an adventure  is always very personal, like choosing a perfume.  Of course, these days there are far too many allergens and asthma episodes to be wearing fragrance.  It is indeed a complicated era, to be marching through  one's journey on Terra firma.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, … '' this opening held serious impact as a young girl when I first read Charles Dickens' wise words from the opening of A tale of Two Cities. His words have indeed staid the test of time and could be held true in fact, of ANY era in history.  


His lines in fact, encapsulate the very nature of living.  Today, we work at finding the joy, being in the moment, appreciating the now, while struggling with stress about the bleak global future, reacting to news and demands of the day and juggling the crazy busyness of modern life.  Feeling at times overwhelmed can even lead to over-correcting this until a state of underwhelm is achieved, or numbness, creating  a strange creepy stress of it's own.


Is there an antidote to the angst of this cycle?

It  may  simply  be  taking  action.


The art of making swift decisions is POWERFUL.  I think it is also a learned skill for many of us.  Swift, to be clear,  is also different then rash or impulsive.   It simply avoids the dithering, the procrastination.  Decisions free up our energy, bringing clarity, focus, and renewal.   Even when the choice at hand is very difficult, painful or complex, a decision can launch us into the momentum of healing, letting go and feeling lighter;  which is often energized and more expansive.   As the buddha teaches, 'pain happens, but suffering is optional.'

Sometimes the decision should be simple, and isn't...say which shirt, shampoo or peanut butter to buy! One can get buried under copious detail researching ingredients, company practices and price comparisons; the mass options and choices  of everyday presented us in today's western world is utterly astonishing, gluttonous and confusing.   And potentially  a HUGE  time sucking machine.  Three choices, done. Seventeen choices........23? ..........um...........????   Wtf. 


This is where, and why,   I am training myself to be decisive. This self induced, self  administered study program has admittedly been initiated now for a few decades with intermittently poor results or forgotten application;  nevertheless, I am now happy to report that I have seen much improvement recently.


Therefore, in the spirit of decisiveness,  hence action,  I am posting this tonight.


And, as I have just returned from a spacious trip to parts of western Canada,  the next blog will be a travelogue of the grand road tour from Toronto to Ottawa, Mont -Tremblant, Quebec City, Baie Sainte-Paul, Montreal and Kingston: complete with cultural hilights, spotlights, fashion, heartwarming animals, culinary delights and disasters, all seen through the golden fall lens of September's soft light.

There, another decision. I'm feeling chuffed.

Now you try it!   YES!  If there is something that has been weighing on your mind, or dwelling in your proverbial background taking up valuable real estate;  and you simply haven't  yet made decisions about what ails you, just  try it.   Whatever the nature of the matter.   Chuck it, chop it, recycle it,; call them,  block  them, invest in it or sell it.   Enroll, drop out.   Invest in yourself.   Sure, outcomes may remain uncertain but notice how you feel after a decision;  isn't that lovely?  

Your own energy rises again and focus returns.   Action is eloquence after all.


Next up:

Part one: Finding one's inner compass through travel.
Part deux: Glad to be Canadian: and here's why.

Stay tuned.

in gratitude,  NH. oct/2016

Remnants of July blew down my front street today,
like a parade of ghosts riding erratic tumbleweeds

gossiping gaily in the distance

I felt you as heat against my bare skin;
a half bitten ruby cherry squirting lusciously on my tongue

the sonic swell of distant tourist traffic rises
like covered bread dough in Grandma's country kitchen

summer swoons in a billowy dress,  a little drunk again
on her own delights

as the parade of frenetic ghosts shake sunbeams loose
through delicate fingers of pine

the sudden solitude fills an unquenchable loneliness

a fiery arbutus exhalts its arms toward the endless blue sky
as a drenched dancer sweating their prayers

good bye sweet, sweet July--

your hand brushed my neck so softly
the hairs stood on guard like a platoon of soldiers-

just the bare impression of you
brings me to my knees.


-N. Hoeppner, jul 31/2016

 The genius of movement....in praise of our MASTERPIECE, the human body.

    [Movement;    joy, healing, strength, grace, expression, personal power, dance.]



Our body,  yes:  everybody's body,  the human machine,  was built to move.    Even the perennial couch potato's.

I have recently returned from a white belt NIA dance teacher training held in the majestic BC coastal mountains.   This has been a decade long dream,   since I was first introduced to the inventive hybrid of NIA dance.    Marrying yin/yang effortlessly,  it is a joyful expression of what Nia calls, ''the body's way''.   The most natural way to find strength, coordination and well being while preventing injury and burn out.    Not to mention the secondary rewards of kinship, delicious music and personal creativity.    It is the frequent longing for more creative movement and physical expression, not just 'fitness' that has led me on a lifelong journey to find Nia.

Dance of course,  gives you a bit of all of it.    S   l   o   w    intimate dances,   fuNky swing,     break dancing, martial moves,   yogic balance,   jazz  attitude,    tap,   modern dance -   at times as indecipherable as abstract painting;   yet freeing, captivating, cathartic.     It is the energetic steps dissolving  into the stillness,  agility snuggling  playfully   with strength moves.     And the intensity,   of course,   dependent on the player.

The theatre of dance tells our story.   Dance expresses so many levels of ourselves; our spirit, our longings, our physical reality, the material poetry of our body.    Perhaps physical intelligence lives most fully in dance.  The gifts of movement, and the sheer genius of our body design,  maximized through the marriage of all elements in NIA;  strength, agility, flexibility, speed, and stability;  collected artfully in the moving sculpture of your own making.

It's true,  that sometimes I love and need the power and strength of running,  the independence of the trail, the unending road.   The sheer simplicity of a solo run.   Sometimes I need the calming beauty of the forest, or the daunting challenge of the mountain terrain;   the uninterrupted eagle view  always your reward, as well as the camaraderie of fellow hikers.

At other times, I need quiet.   Rest.   Stillness.   Healing from various emotional and physical ailments I have often turned to chi gong,   yin yoga or Tai chi;    for the wisdom,   gentleness and grace that comes with slowing down.

Rather contrary to this quiet, centred wisdom then, there are also the POWER   fantasies  of being an unstoppable gymnast/martialartsesque 'time and space bender' with parkour moves;  crouching tiger, hidden dragon style,   feeling 100 ft tall and  IMMORTAL.   (I know you can relate!!)   But alas, that I have never mastered this level of adeptness and athleticism goes without saying.

It is truly the celebration of movement of any kind, that I feel called to share.

The strength and power one feels lifting weights, or the supple, toned and stretched results of pilates.   The peace and beauty of kayaking under a full moon,  and the utter relaxation after a swim in the pool.  The crazy fRusTRatinG  learning Curve of surfing or the thrill of down hill skiing.    There is also the kick butt,  sweat generating, 'heat up a winter day' on cross country skis (or snow shoes) kinda workout.   The array of gifts and experiences movement brings   is rather infinite  and astounding.      The  JOY, the friends, the community spirit when you join a race or a fund-raising walk;   sometimes even the  pain, setbacks, soreness, the sprained ankles and wrists from basketball, The fear of ''not being good enough'',  but the growing confidence and opportunity to test these things and trust trying is enough,   winning is fun, but showing up is what counts!   The tension of relay races and people counting on you, the excitement of shooting out of the blocks when you hear the gun.

Tripping your partner in three legged races, families cheering at summer camp picnics.  I cannot emphasize enough, the joy being in this mechanically brilliant  body has afforded me.

To say nothing of the sensual pleasures.......

How can you not give back and take exquisite care of your temple that breathes all day long to fuel your thoughts,  your activities,  your work,  your entire miraculous moving life?

It is   the   vessel   through which we experience our  very existence.

Yes, it's true, you caught me.   I do get caught up in the petty complaints, the years agonizing over big arms or bumpy thighs, a few extra pounds, motivating oneself to get out the door, tripping over  big feet and the sometimes indignities of say,  mmm....a bout of food poisoning.   Sometimes just sheer fatigue and being overwhelmed weighs us down.   Cycles of chronic pain can interrupt good intentions.

Meanwhile, the fuller reality is still that the human body is just phenomenal and gives us so much while asking so little in return. The empowerment  of movement never ceases to amaze me and raise me up! You don't have to be an Olympian, just shake your booty, because even small movements are fun and energizing
Just take a good long look at that amazing mechanism at the end of your arm called the hand, and thank it for all it does for you day in and day out;  writing, holding a cup of coffee, typing...these are movements.   If you don't Love to move then learn to move.   Just Shake it off.    And I promise you,  if you pay attention,  you will fall in love with your ability to move, over and over again.

Even the frail elderly, declining and vulnerable will come to life with music;  keeping the beat, swaying heads and snapping those digits.   We, all of us, (even those that haven't figured it out yet) love to move. The body was built for it. The brain requires it. Movement juices your brain, energy and mood in such  a vital way that  AHA! Moments become more frequent,  problems find solutions,   and creative ideas   F  L  O  W.

Walking is famous as a method for blasting creative blocks throughout the centuries.    Composers, artists, writers, and inventors have used it as a natural balm since the dawn of time. Aristotle, Edison, Brahms, Beethoven, Monet, Dickens, O'Keefe are all fine examples. Julia Cameron speaks of walking as a spiritual rite of passage into a deeper creative life in her well loved tome, 'the Artist's Way'.

Francine Shapiro, an American psychologist, discovered the portal to her groundbreaking trauma tool EMDR, by taking long walks in the woods when she was upset and observing changes that occurred in her well being and processing.

Walking is our birthright.

It's just plain good for us.    

And really, pretty darn cool   when you spend some time truly honouring the mechanics of the body and it's elegant design.   The fuelling system, alignment of 206 bones and 640 skeletal muscles;  our motor,  speed and cadence that quietly coordinates itself for us during an afternoon summer stroll for ice cream!!

Even when ill in bed, circle those ankles, stretch out your arms, or focus on deepening your breath.  Just do your best,  from where you're at,  to keep moving.    Honour your body.

If you were perhaps  plagued growing up by clumsiness, oversize, illness, general awkwardness, thick glasses, bad balance and felt all of this has ruined your connection with movement forever...... I encourage you to try again.


Try differently. Try inwardly.


You are amazing! OF  this  I  am   certain.


Whatever your circumstance.   Whatever your shape or skill or fitness level.    IF you have never fostered a healthy or loving relationship with exercise,  due to bullying yourself through self loathing or at the hand of others;

Lest I say again,  just    Shake.      It.       Off.
(insert Taylor Swift dance video here for inspiration).

Shift into loving, gentle moves. (It's sooooooo much less arduous).   Scrap the idea of exercise and fall in love with the miracle of movement.   It is one of the greatest gifts you can give yourself.

We have perhaps become too banal about the miraculous. A side effect of our times brought on by constant inundation with knowledge, advancement and over exposure to, well, everything.   Adults often have the bad habit of lulling themselves to sleep on autopilot.   Wake up the   W  O  W     factor.

Back to basics.

The slow movement from Italy, the sexy resurgence of minimalism; reduce, reuse, recycle...these all hold the same core value of do it yourself with less gadgetry and fuss.   Nike was on to something big when they came up with their tag line, 'Just do it. '


I remember many sublime moments of inspiration in my own life afforded by my body in motion.   A remote canoe trip in my 20's in the  beautiful  lake of the woods region, complete with the challenge of portaging, the splendour of encountering owls,  a near miss with a mama bear and cubs,  an  otherworldly  full moon, a huge turtle and birds I had never seen or heard.   These things, these beauties and connections I would never have known or touched without the capabilities of my body.   I have mountain biked up remote trails in beautiful Deutschland, in search of Ein Schloss, and jumped for joy upon the newly toppled Berlin wall in 1990, as well as many nights danced away until dawn, one of the few,  rare ways I witness sunrises.

What are your top 5 experiences your body moved you too?     Needless to say it is remarkable to tally your exquisite experiences brought by the joy and sensations of movement.   And oh yes, sex most certainly counts.

Do something.   You don't have to look good doing it,  you don't even have to know what to call it,   just wiggle those toes.    They are anxious to lead you out the door to a new version of you in motion.   Use some elbow grease baking that cake, leave your mixer behind, remind your body of the muscle and coordination of beating a meringue that has all but been completely erased from your modernized, techno gadgety mind.

Stretch the parameters of your cramped, tense animal body.... r - e - a - c - h    and see the rewards and magic manifest.    Joy is to be had by the simple pleasure of tapping your foot in a cafe to tunes.

If you are feeling stuck, and you're reading this and still distracted by an internal discouraging voice,  start small.   Flutter those eyelashes, loosen your jaw, take a deep breath.

Then take ten steps. Be creative. Be playful. Tiny Tippy Toes....then giant, exagerated steps.

Break it down. Start small. Build from there. You, yes you, not just that cute guy over there or that svelte young thing,  are an amazing body.   We are all powerful beyond measure and frankly,  we are sheer genius in motion.

It is after all a dialogue with your body to be nurtured; a relationship that needs attention as any does.   It is communicating in sacred  simplicity with the cells of your body to honour your life force.   Your personal divine poetry.

Just     show up,      WAKE UP  and      r    I  S  E   UP!
                                    

THANK YOU  for being here with me.    nh.

(If this blog interested you, you may also enjoy 'the art of listening' (April 2015) about awakening the senses.)

  Coming soon:  Celebrating movement  blog, will be  posted in 3 days.   Until then:

                          Happy  C a n a d a   Day! 

Photo taken of  spontaneous  cartwheels in Tofino, BC  on one of Canada's premiere  beaches.   Proud  and grateful to be Canadian,  peaceful and free.  

with love, 

Norma H.

A POEM

You ask,  “ are you a poet?”
I don't respond.         Looking blankly past you,
behind anonymous eyes.

'Why would you ask?'
Didn't I bring you a scarlet river of silk,   a vessel of my tears,     warm like sake

to be drunk
drunk with you
to find the cows' path home again
dodging steaming dung pies
beads of dew on our fancy leather shoes--
“ooh..”   clenched fists;   twisted eyes
how I hate it when you ask me...

         'Sake?'



10/03/2015
N. Hoeppner