The Transformative Fuel of R e j e c t i o n
[WARNING: if you have ever experienced rejection you may relate and weep uncontrollably] key words: sting, slap, dreaded lessons, fuel, resilience, redemptive CONTEXT: This past week or there about I received a rejection from an art jury that none of the 12, count them, TWELVE pieces, I submitted, so beautifully framed I might add, would be accepted for a summer show. Ouch. (YES, ALL 12, stop making me repeat it!!) IT is frequently said, that whenever one door closes, another opens. Well, I am not yet feeling the draft. Oh how the weary world does like to leave it's textured patina upon our aging skin. No one gets out unblemished. Inside or out. Just days out of another substantial disappointment, I am reeling in the emotional line, shortening the leash of malcontent and focusing the tautness for a catch...too much slack and I have no power, to little, SNAP. The ancient story of trees surviving the storms of spring, flexibility required, strength a must. Branches sacrificed in the process. Life continues to demand daily acts of courage from us, whether we are conscious of this or not. Sometimes all too evidently as when tragedy, illness or complex loss strike...but often, much subtler versions, like the daily struggle for momentum and motivation to simply show up, and, often, grow up, in the process. But first, before we delve further, may I simply offer up a collective, BIG, tired, discouraged, limp, full bodied release of an e m p t y i n g soulful S-I-G-H. You see, we cannot leap fully into our next endeavour, truthfully and energetically, until we release the holdings of our tension, attachment, fear, hurt and judgement . 'Just what the heck does this (rejection) mean anyway? ' 'Does it define me?' Whispers ego 'Does it predict my demise? 'fear gasps, 'predict my aimless, dead future as an artist?' 'My futility in banal endeavours and mediocrity? ' ' OH GOD NO!!! NOT THAT!!!' I Cry silently to no one. (until now.) And for a time, perhaps only a fleeting second, or mere minutes; maybe hours or a few days, we question. We do sting. Because showing up is an act of courage. It is an act of heart. It is brave to be an artist. And it hurts to be in the cold shadow of rejection. We do self doubt, worry, fear. We hand our power over to the jurors, the condemners of our fate; perhaps our ex, or our employer and we unconsciously say, “well you must know better than I what I am, what I am capable of...” In a flash it occurs before we know what hit, tears instantaneous, shown or swallowed down in mustered pride; before the mind even digests the words, how does my body know so well? The depths of the cut. The ego feels the slap. We can stand off, defiant in the face of this embarrassment, “ do you not know who I am?” perhaps ripples across our otherwise humble ideas of self...hmmm, that's an odd reaction, we ponder in curious concern of our lurking megalomania. But ego lives in us all, the same and identical ego. Individuality doesn't live here, nope, our soul has our true blueprint. If we are listening. (insert last blog here.) Yes, we are called to listen again. Listen to the sounds and signs that will lead us out of the dark questioning of disappointment. The story book forest of trolls and gremlins, larger than life shadows, claws and looming darkness. Rejection I'm afraid, may only be a paper cut, but oh how it does sting. We are all, at times, both the jury and the juried. Acknowledging this, we must recognize the trappings of judgement, closing off and shutting down. SOUL, and that is where creativity lives, is EXPANSIVE. Judgement and rejection, on the other hand, constricting. IF left unchecked or unacknowledged, the experience of rejection can run the potential to distort our better judgement or throw us into a fit; running the risk of tantrums to indignant denial heightens, triggering as well, past losses and rejections that amplify our ailing identity, or, OR.... preferably sometimes teach us simply, to roll with the punches. This latter option is for the very graceful or, 'em, sometimes, the well rehearsed. Therein lies the essence of resiliency. The dreaded lesson? Simply practice. Practice getting back up off our knees, straightening up, dusting off and quietly walking on toward our next....? 'DOH!!!!” THERE it is again, the next what??? Fear lurks, jumps us innocently walking by; we struggle, wrestle to the ground. THE UNCERTAINTY is the killer. The next....WHAT??? How we do love to know. Actors face denial daily. Auditions, auditions, auditions. No thanks. “We'll call you.” Well, no wonder actors are notoriously painted as neurotic and insecure, let's cut them some slack!! Buskers may not make a dollar playing their hearts out all day.... WHAT COURAGE. Writers too, have stacks of rejection letters from publishers, politely declining hard won tomes and prose. Indeed, I have my very own stack to show you one day over high tea and tears. “It's not you, it's me.” the zeitgeist tag line of universal recognition; succinctly encapsulating the head game of human REJECTION. It does beg the question, Why do we create? Why do we sustain such continued injury? It is me, isn't it? WHY then indeed, Why do I create, Why do I paint, draw, dance, sing, write.....Should I give up? Do I quit? Does the world want me to stop? Should I be baking cake instead? For all it's joys, the creative process is not without its many pitfalls and rejection is perhaps the most fickle and potentially toxic one. We must guard against agreeing with those who would like to see us stop. (Let us not forget, sometimes that can also be cleverly disguised envy afterall)! So on the heels of an art committee rejection I return to the drawing board. And encourage you to do so, whatever the nature of your possibly tattered ego state or recent run of rejections. What else can we do? It is our salvation and that is why it matters so much to us. Even if you are riding the high of success, the dizzying heights of a strong successful platform, well, more power to you, please do lead the way....light the path for those of us temporarily spinning our wheels in the ditch. I CREATE because I l o n g to add something of value. To my life, to the world, for those I love. I create because I yearn to improve. To expand, to learn, to grow. I want to wake up over and over again, and resist my own consciousness falling asleep. I create because I have to express myself or I would simply shrivel into misery. I know that version of myself and trust me, you don't want to meet her. To create is in our bones. It is our soul blueprint. Our resolve must be to get better and better until they can no longer turn their back on us. Until the doors of opportunity blow open with the force of a gale..... So now what? Now I am busy recolouring myself with crayons, or icing, depending on the mood, licking my wounds and infusing myself again with the colour of living; recapturing the fancy that fuels me, not just the pain. For me the scab has healed over, itchy now, it is giving way to the next generation of new creative cells which have healed another layer of sexy creative skin. The genius of DNA. The redemptive nature of healing. GAME ON. SO if you have been rebalancing from any recent rejections, go ahead, sigh it out. EXHALE the disappointment, empty the trash. And then prepare, yes, prepare yourself. Oh yes, haven't you heard, ' it's not over until the fat lady sings....' SO take that art jury, I will have my cake AND eat it too, along with a pretty radioactive bright cherry on top should I so please. OH, the Game (is definitely back) on! nh. MAY/15 Fall seven times, get up eight. -Japanese Proverb-
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The FIne Art of Listening
Are you a good listener? If I was super honest with you, really, really honest, I'm afraid I would have to admit,(embarassed as I am by this) that I have become a rather poor listener. Often times, impatient with the world and others, straining to get words in edgewise, planning what to say—distracted by bings, phone beeps, hums, boiling kettle whistles, agendas, time frames, traffic, radio news, the sounds of rushing.... It's not easy to do anymore, it seems. The true art of really listening. How did we get here? Now don't fret, I don't mean to be including you with the 'we', not specifically anyway, as perhaps you are a rare exquisite listener. And I commend you if you are. It is both a gift and a choice. There is of course, the sheer miraculousness of hearing to begin with, the miracle of our ears, odd as they appear, and rarely shed attention. WE don't tend to identify them as our best feature and yet...perhaps, they just might be. We likely appreciate our ears, or at least our hearing, when we are speaking with a deaf person whose words are marbled, muffled, fading at the edges like an impressionist painting of words in dim light, blurring into the next one. Or when we have a screaming ear infection—the pain, the amplified beating of our heart through our own ear drum-red with rage- A deep breath of automatic gratitude will catch us off guard when we are reminded how easy it is to hear, when one is gifted this sense in good health. Hearing sounds is one thing. Listening is another altogether. An Art. No Question. Imagine joyful sounds. Top ten. What are yours? Mine would have to include the timeless calming effect of a cat's purr, as well as:
6. the ''KKKasshish-” of a tab opening on a cold beverage can, (the ability to make one thirsty for miles) 7. any Aria sung well 8. a somewhat comical chorus of frogs on an evening walk 9. laughter in any language, especially, most especially, a young child's unaffected, infectious, gleeful giggle and ten. .. 10.SILENCE. pure—rare—precious-silence. DEEP SILENCE. Listening is an art. Literal comprehension not always required, as any traveller in a foreign land knows; hand gestures, international signs, human facial expressions—the things we listen for instinctively. Listening implies being non-judgemental. Non defensive. This—when the stakes are high and the wounds deep—is one of our biggest challenges. We often turn away in protection; versions of self preservation well rationalized. Albeit the result is alienating, sometimes punishing—the cool shadow of withdrawal. NO one benefits when we stop listening. Disconnection is the result. Especially from ourselves and our deeper heart. Why do we fear listening, what is it we think we will hear? Perhaps the unbearable truth. I WONDER....What would it be like if this noisy world was silenced for a day. IF the world was silenced for a day; no gunfire, sirens, beeping, car horns, screaming, yelling, ALARMS, radio announcers, sound bites, sTatiC, jack hammers, heating systems, dogs barking, steaming mad espresso machines, no sound emitted when we sob, rage or laugh. What would you feel?--If you could silence all? What would you miss? Would your own voice intensify? Or would it slow down, find it's softness against the new found quiet, land gently upon a resting place. Astonished. Still. Imagine the sheer s-p-a-c-i-o-u-s-n-e-s-s. I breathe deeper simply imagining this and the room to run—the noise ceasing—the energy I would have freed up by not having to digest and discern a thousand bombarding signals of data an hour-- What if we could give ourselves this luxury for mere minutes a day? A soul nap. A tea break for the psyche. The act of Emptying our crowded selves. Tension simply draining away after the discordant party blaring in our heads, stumbles home like errant rowdy neighbors, finally quiet. But –even though silence can be sublime, I would eventually miss the resonance of a teacup gently clicking it's contact point with the saucer—the reassuring sound of hot tea pouring into the cup. These are comforting sounds. Like your lover saying your name. The sound of anticipation itself. The fullness of this life to your own personal soundtrack. Watching Evelyn Glennie perform on stage, is a humbling marvel. She is a World class solo percussionist—simply astonishing the audience with her virtuosity, in large part 'listening' through her barefeet to vibrations. You see, not only is she a major talent, but she is also deaf. AND, she wins 'the listening as an art form' badge. What an inspiration to behold. Hers is a brilliant lesson in listening. We too can listen if only we can allow ourselves to get out of the way of our inner noise. Past our ego, our latent wounds hiding in ambush. If we can avoid following the shiny magnetic distractions of the noisy world. Listening instead to our hearts. Our longing. Our dreams. Our harebrained creative urgings. Our priorities. Listening to the vibrations of our own being, It then also becomes infinitely easier to listen to our loved ones and to hear their song. Listening heart to heart is the most important thing we will ever do here. Resonance with our truest vibration is a deeply beautiful thing. NH. april/2015 "Hearing is a form of touch. You feel it through your body, and sometimes it almost hits your face.'" Evelyn Glennie [NOTE TO THE READER: I want to personally thank any and all for ''listening'' to this blog and other posts. I can't reply to those who have posted directly due to the format, but please know I appreciate your input and comments and the offering of your time and attention. I am genuinely grateful for your participation and encouragement, and welcome any vibrations you have to share on your favourite sounds...!!!] Instructions for surviving MARch MaDnesS.
Spring can leave us all feeling UPSIDE DOWN. Gravity assures that we barely notice this. I do remember standing on a chair to look at a drawing when I was nine, because my teacher told us ''to take a break, and to look at your work from a distance. Change perspective...” Sage advise that should be followed, no matter what the work you do is, to this day. It can be a very turbulent experience being an inhabitant of the mind. SO lets use this to our advantage. Changing perspective need not be painful, but rather playful. I say, dig like a thick legged chicken, and confess your sins and regrets to the earthworms you uncover; dance like a shooting star against the dark mood, stare into the deep brown eyes of a cow, see all sentient beings for their struggle. Drop kick judgement to the next stratosphere, (the curb ain't near far enough! ) Play tag with the dust bunnies of your neglected house. Blow some bubbles--- Stare at the best painting you can find for 3 hours. Let it come alive for you. Imagine painting it. Unplug from everything. Scream into the wind—wearing a dramatic scarf, so you stand out like a cartoon character with it blowing lyrically behind you. GOGGLES will greatly improve this look. Spend the night sleeping in the forest, listen to how alive it is. Scare yourself silly. Speak with the owls and the racoons. Nestle in a den like a wild thing. W A I T. Be patient. Be still. Breathe slowly. Allow an animal to nap on your lap until they choose to move. Cherish the tenderness. The bond. The lesson. Swallow the beauty of blossoms like the last visual feast you will ever devour. Be useful out there but don't stress yourself out doing it. Be kind to others, (it's a given,) as this showers you back with multiple rewards, namely, entrance to nowhere when you die but maybe a clever or well meaning epitaph. No, Let's just be kind because it's good to be, no other flippin' reason. If you are edgy, restless, irritable, dry and tired under winter's itchy coat, waiting for ice to melt, a north wind to stop slapping insults at you, W A I T. This too shall pass. Until then, moisturize. And, when the blossoms arrive, you too will be blessed with the wakening world once again; the primordial wisdom, tireless intelligence of nature, the reverent resilience that continues to offer us hope, over and over, and over again. Be the best version of you. Even if you have no understanding of why, what difference it makes, and how many other people seem to do it all better, faster, smarter, it doesn't matter, because they are still not you. And cannot be. And we need all the birds to sing. We need everyone's voice and efforts, if we are going to make this planet better. AND, that goes doubly if you are a woman, a child, a minority, one-legged, deaf, schizophrenic, labelled and categorized in any external and offensive way, fat, edgy, alternative, grumpy, gay, freakish, poor, disempowered, too hairy, electric blue, elderly or sin ugly, just share your song. I think we must. And together, we will find spring. We will come back to life. We will re awaken together. Our blossoming will be magnificent. C. Norma Hoeppner/march/ (naturally) 2015 After a few grumpy days of discontent and inner stormy weather, it has come to light, become crystal clear to me that the inner critic, 'the taskmaster' as I call her, otherwise known as the gremlin within, has been putting me through the ringer. She has had her way with me and I allowed her. Oh, I fought back; but she requires something all together different then clever strategies or muscle power. You can't just punch her, yell at her, or play ' checkmate, gottcha!' She thrives on games. No, much like the wicked witch of the east from the Wizard of Oz will only disintegrate in the face of a bucket of water, the taskmaster, only dissolves with one unsuspecting benign and gentle thing. The taskmaster is not made of sugar so it isn't water that works with this one. Anyone? Superman's kryptonite? Nope. My inner gremlins, and I am most certain yours as well simply cannot survive against the gentle influence and quiet strength of true compassion. Gremlins get rowdiest, loudest, ugliest, when I am being least loving with myself. They are opportunists after all, and when self doubt is large, so are they. Self recrimination can be subtle and insidious. It's disguised as 'accidentally' walking into the corner of the bed getting a nasty bruise, then calling yourself all sorts for being clumsy. It leaks out as impatient driving, general irritability focused largely on your own efforts. These things add up; and if and when left unchecked for several days they become, 'unproductive to do lists' growing like mold on your colleague's forgotten coffee mug. Compassion, the act of self love, kindness, moving into gentleness; is the only way out. And let me tell you, it doesn't come easy once you've done the self recrimination spiral. We've all been there. It's the human condition. Illogical, mean, weird, counterproductive, and yes, still human. We can give and be kind to others all day long and still find fault with ourselves at the end of the exhausted day. It's a sign of possible resentment. Self neglect. Trouble with a capital T. And maybe, a nudge that you need a holiday, or a deeper rest. You need not despair however, observing the pattern, catching the spiral, is the first step to recovery. In the aforementioned wee snit I decided to use my aggressive energy for cleaning. Tidying up and sorting through stuff I came across yet another to do list from the past. My continual relentless self imposed prison of ``not good enough``, `haven`t done enough`, `do more and do it quicker`. I found a litany of tasks on the list from years ago including such self loving and concrete goals as ``fix my ass``......? Well that sounds both vague and exhausting as well as unkind. (not to mention unlikely!) Deep l-o-n-g sigh. Yes, it is time for a much needed exhale. This list stopped me in my grumpy tracks. I sat, slouched over, looking at this impossible list recognizing how many times, likely several thousand by now, I have done this to myself. All the to do lists and all the paper scraps and day books I have written on could literally bury me alive by now. Organization tools aside, to do lists can be the modern woman’s tyranny. I literally had every category on that one list, including, (HA!) -reduce migraines, and then insult to injury, - relax. Like those two things had a snowballs chance in hell of happening following that list! This brings me deeper into the topic at hand, where in fact, the little things do count. The little things do add up. And, being kind to ourselves, and gentle, does matter. The daily question of how will I get it all done may remain, yet, we must trust and learn that we do get many things done. We get amazing things done. We have relationships, dress ourselves, often very well; do errands, cook dinner, clean up, pay bills, do taxes, sort our wills, volunteer, make soup for sick friends, call our moms, pick up our kids, change the cat litter, laugh a bit somewhere in there with the bank teller or grocery clerk, walk, exercise, maybe even get to a movie with our lovie, and oh right, we also go to work! Work, which also required, need I remind you, education, qualifications, interviews, apprenticeships, hard bloody preparation to work. And TIME. Hours upon hours of time investment. We ARE amazing.... but this is not what we top our lists with. GO me, I am amazing has never been the first, middle or last item on my list. EVER. Until now of course. And that is the beauty of small insights. Compassion quietly tames the taskmaster gremlins and puts shame back in its box, shoved back in the proverbial closet. Eventually I hope to incinerate shame for good. But, in the meantime, I take deep breaths, a long walk and a long, relaxing, hot shower. I recently watched a sweet movie about a chef by Jon Favreau. One of the scene`s involved a montage put together by one of the characters, his 10 yr old son, of 1 second moments from consecutive days of their time together. And, it is awesome. And, it is also amazing to be reminded of just how long a second is! The timelessness of time. The spiritual dimensions, the quantum physics of parallel dimensions, (for another blog). So yes, one second, is surprisingly vivid. And that my friends, is how we get so bloody much done. Because we are amazing. We are creative channels of cool ideas, heart, elbow grease and capability. 0ne second montages add up. SO you get my point, one day at a time, we do build empires. We build lives. WE build juicy, messy, full, at times chaotic lives. Some days we may tip over the stress balance, some weeks feel mental and out of control, but ultimately, one day at a time amounts to success. If we can allow ourselves to slow down, allow ourselves to trust the rhythm of energy, nature, ourselves, our needs. I recently read about Dave Brailsford who was the General Manager and Performance Director for Team Sky (Great Britain’s professional cycling team). Dave believed in a concept that he referred to as the “aggregation of marginal gains.” He explained it as “the 1 percent margin for improvement in everything you do.” His belief was that if you improved every area, (in this case related to cycling) by just 1 percent, then those small gains would add up to remarkable improvement. And they did. They increased their performance which resulted in a win, 3 years later. Just as one hour montages of one second actions amount to a hell of a lot. Much like a leaky faucet or a small contribution to the bank account, we don't see declines or gains quickly with tiny fractions; they are about long term commitments. Plug that bathtub and you'll see how much energy, $ and water you are losing one drip at a time, much like, ten dollars a day adds up to three hundred in a month. We often miss our small ''successes'' because they don't leave big impact. Small choices may not make much of a difference at the time, but rest assured, they add up over the long-term. Fitness is a prime example of that, so is weight loss. Just like learning to practice loving kindness for ourselves each day. Good choices. Kind choices. Kinder 'to do' lists! Kinder moments add up, one spacious second at a time. One percent, (1%) aggregation amounts in potential improvements, most importantly kindness to ourselves and others. The seemingly marginal gains are in fact, immeasurably amazing and impossibly rich if we value ourselves, our choices and our creativity in loving, nurturing ways. May we be our own best Valentine this year and every year and enjoy our compassionate gains. Sending a valentine's wish of sweetness and love to all. You are amazing. Norma H From my early youth three women stand out as exceptional inspirations. Sorry mom, they are actually, Mary Poppins, the Bionic Woman, and Pippi Long Stocking. To clarify, I can think of all kinds of real life inspirations, like Harriet Tubman, Audre Lorde, Helen Keller, to name just a few. I applaud and hold these women in awe but, they came much later in my identification and awareness. It is the mighty three first feisty fictional females that are the most enduring for me. Still and always, I venture. Today I am focused on my idols, fictional to some, but very real to me, at least as a 10 year old girl. Let's face it, we are in fact often the coolest, truest version of ourselves at 10. And these women rocked in my ten year old eyes! All rather independent, feisty, smart, savvy, otherworldly and strong, emotionally and physically. A recipe indeed to garner complete admiration. And along with being ever so sensible, Mary Poppins could fly; I mean, how magical is that? They taught us about facing adversity with innovation, courage, wit, and sometimes a song.... They broke stereotypes held about feminine behaviour and looks; with Pippi's straight out shocking orange braids and overabundance of freckles, she was her own fearless, unapologetic self. Pippi was super strong, at one with the animals, and encouraged girls to have fun adventures and believe in themselves. She was sheer genius, and completely magical to me. Jamie Somers, the Bionic woman, ( rebuilt after her accident) was better, faster, stronger then she was before; and yet, remained feminine with her long flowing blond hair and beautiful, husky voice. She could outrun a cheetah and hear things a mile away....what a powerhouse to behold. These were my kind of women!! Even at ten; especially at 10. And Mary Poppins, with her smart outfits, killer boots, and spiffy umbrella just sprang to life in my imagination as the woman who had it all and should be envied. She was formidable. Practical and capable she was no nonsense, no drama, like a sturdy bridge to a magical world. These were the mentors of my youth, the shining stars of inspiration. And I'm glad...I'm not sure Lady Gaga or Miley Cyrus would have done justice to my young aspirations. So what is the role of mentors in our life? At this stage, my mentors tend to be more professional. Artists I admire and whose career trajectories have taught me things about self-employment, self invention and sustaining stamina and vision. Stumbling on a children's book yesterday by none other then Madonna herself, I thought, “Really, you have to do this too?” Already dominating the world stage in music, fashion, modelling, film directing, singing, dancing, and now children's books? I was both a might envious and ticked simultaneously (of course I mean jealous and dwarfed). Leave some realm untouched for us mere mortals Madonna! Let the rest of us catch our breath on the mundane survival beat for a minute. But there it is, what sets mentoring apart from those that engender jealousy, envy and resentment as opposed to celebration, inspiration, joy and motivation? Is it a fine line? Or is it simply strength of character or lack thereof. I have art mentors that intimidate and elevate me. I have social justice advocates I marvel at. I know women that accomplish it all and never look tired or appear to show their stress! Amazing. ( My stress on the other hand, schvitzes everywhere...it hardly seems fair. ) But mentors, they provide us with hope. Hope and a light on the murky and brambled path to our deepest dreams. Often calm, cool, collected images of courage and composure, they both instill and inspire hope, beauty, strength, charisma and accomplishment; the whole meal deal. How are they different than friends we admire? Sometimes they are one and the same. My childhood mentors are usually out of reach by text or late night emergency phone calls, and seldom respond to ranting emails. Friends excel at regular support; they may not understand what you are aiming for but love you anyway, even if and when you fail. Mentors keep the eye on the prize. They provide clarity and momentum on the big picture. And, unlike friends, my mentors serve as more than human but just shy of full out goddess status. Somehow, this means I love them all the more, even when some envy mingles in the air alongside the jet pack fumes from burning creative fuel, flying high to reach the bar they have set. Having a mentor is still not, and never will be, about copying, or repeating, or 'catching up'...but rather stepping into your own fullness, your juicy bold self, your version, your best, bestest version of you. Mentors are the mighty leaders who inspire us to keep up the march to be AWESOME, and encourage us to step into some pretty fantastic shoes to make our own tracks. These boots below I'm pretty sure would impress both Pippi Longstocking and Mary Poppins, hands down. One of my favourite pairs of power boots, which can only lead me to inspired days. Vive La France!!
In the wake of the recent slaughter at Charlie Hebdo, the satirical newspaper in Paris, we feel the sickening turbulence of yet another terrifying and crazed extremist attack on civil liberties. This confirms the murderers' jaded belief in PROHIBITING freedom of speech. The last few days the news has been horrible. Today however, my spirit soared to hear of the mass demonstration, the unity rally, 3 million strong, in Paris and its surrounding suburbs. The “Marche Republicaine” aptly demonstrated the rise of the human spirit, the sheer power of unity, and the heart of humanity at its finest. Courageous, united, arm and arm; with love and even joy reportedly in the air, the demonstrators honoured those innocent civilians who were horrifically murdered. I never intended to blog about politics, religion or world events and yet, how can one not join the solidarity against these random acts of cruelty and insanity? It is rare that the news brings light. Yet, today I am so very proud for a change, and literally lifted up, by the show of love, hope and strength in France. As incredibly diverse a population as that unity rally comprised, makes it all the more impressive for its cohesion. My heart breaks for the victims and families of the murdered, stomachs twist and churn listening about the last few days of terror; and this is why all the more I have to thank them, we all have to thank them, for their rise to the cause in their darkest hours. And thank them for; their collective belief in the work at Charlie Hebdo; defending civil liberties and diversity of thought; and their unity at supporting what their fellow citizens were devoted to do. The pencil is not a weapon. It is an essential tool of humanity, often the swiftest way to access our humanity. No one should be murdered for expressing an opinion. Ever. Satirical comics often serve as brilliant enlightenment against an otherwise dark rising energy or the face of sheer stupidity. Those civilians who innocently and bravely made their livelihood shedding light on the dark and the ignorant were honoured today, celebrated. The heart ache remains, but the fear, the fear will not! The message today was crystal clear. We will not be intimidated by a few megalomaniacs with a twisted distorted agenda of alleged religious fervour, who use their misguided zeal to glorify murder for their own ends. NO! We will not, cannot, allow terror to reign. The French have led us back to hope, to the meaning of true power; truth itself. Actions speak louder than words. Three million took action today. Let that send shivers of hope throughout the world. “Je suis Charlie”. Community in the Technological Age
First things first. A Happy, Joyful, Refreshing, Inventive New Year to all!! We have now collectively bid 2014 an official good night, sleep tight. Welcome 2015, the fresh, clean, inspiring energy of an unmarked year! So much potential, so much delight, so much challenge, all lay ahead, like the first page of a much anticipated novel, beckoning for your undivided attention. YAHOO! I am still glowing this morning with the warm feeling of connection, friendship and love and it's power in my life. Although a quiet New Year's Eve at home, simply texting and receiving texts from friends all around the globe, from Hawaii to Saskatoon, Chilliwack to Florida, Toronto, Winnipeg, Shanghai....is a sheer delight. A technological wonder in an amazing age of ease, instant gratification and when wielded appropriately, connection! Although I am not the biggest fan of social media, (read hate it), and its general aggrandizement of self absorption, (Says the hypocritical righteous blogger), I do still get a sincere giggle, smile and deep pleasure from greetings from friends sent directly to my phone. The personal touch. The modern version of a phone call. This amazing device I still marvel at daily. The camera! Texting?!And of course, the phone....voices bouncing from satellites while we, ourselves in transit careening through space and time, go gaily about our day getting (Impatient ?#%&*! ) at times we don't have a signal momentarily, or it dare take several more seconds than our immediate action packed lives would demand. So in the spirit of newness; a fresh start and clean beginnings, the dawn, or rather noon of a new day and new year, I revel in the genius of our 21st century, it's pitfalls, graces and gifts, and am AMAZED at the ability to stay connected with such ease. I am reminded of our humanity, heart, smiling faces and love behind all the beeps, blips, chirps and bizarre ring tones. In this moment, I am grateful for technology and its gift of staying connected with such tremendous ease to my friends and loved ones out there, where ever you all may be! Wishing you all the best in the new year ahead and the courage to pursue your dreams, and stay truly connected to what, and who, matters most to you. I know I for one am going to try my damnedest. 'No matter what your past has been, your future is spotless!' -unknown “God* bless us, every one!” -Tiny Tim (* or source, or universe) This blog entry involves a tale of adventure. The quest: the heroine overcomes fear, (motion sickness and other perils) and steps into the unknown, trusting the sheer empowerment of a decision to take a leap of faith, a risk that honours the turning of the page on a new decade, and rituals themselves. It feels essential to mark auspicious beginnings with a ritual, a landmark event; weddings, housewarmings, graduations to name a few--- yet we can take for granted the significance at play. Although many are shared with family or community, some rituals we must create just for ourselves. This usually involves some inventiveness. To honour our fullness, our desires, our lives and our strengths. What is significant to us, must be witnessed by our own being, to strengthen our desires and serve as fuel for the journey. In this next excerpt, I had come through a time of turmoil and felt the call to begin anew; fresh, begin a new perspective with an eagle's eye view. SKYSAILING: take one. Imagine a beautiful sunny, warm September day. A Friday, no less, my favourite day of the week. The agenda of the day, a fun, fun, fun birthday in the sun. Paragliding off of Grouse Mountain, in Vancouver. Massage at 11:00 am. A leisurely lunch to follow. (Although, as it turns out, I couldn't eat. Something about nerves.....) Jump scheduled at 16:00 hours. A lovely day, yet S't'r'e's's's's's'......set in, about 60 minutes before the departure time. Sentimental goodbyes to Zulu, my sweet cat, hopeful of my safe return. Do I really want to do this? Driving to Grouse seems an eternity. Reminders to myself, with both my inside and outside voice, that this was a voluntary decision. The tram ride up the mountain, feels uneasy enough. Why am I doing this? The question remains.... My stomach is a churning mess. Arriving to the appex, I greet a laid back gentleman with a walkie-talkie, 3 days of stubble and a no frills attitude. Sign the waiver. Sign the visa. For my death and injury, the pilot is now off the hook and I am officially committed. Next up, I immediately injure myself. In what becomes the most perilous portion of the journey, entering the 4 x 4; I crack my head hard, right off the hop, just climbing into the truck! Well done. Next, a rocky ride up a steep slope to the next highest portion of the mountain; squashed into the back seat, with no control of the window. “Are you trying to roll down the window?” Mr Charm-school bellows, “you can't. “ Great, the lesson of forfeiting control has already begun (otherwise known as surrender). So, I am now sitting with five strangers, in the backseat, prone to motion sickness I might add, with a throbbing head, travelling toward my leap of faith. Bracketed by two silent women; I think, shouldn't I introduce myself if these are the last people on earth I see? A petite dark haired woman from Berlin, another heavily accented German woman from Ontario and myself of Germanic descent. Hmmm. My very 'rigorous scientific study' sees a slight suicidal tendency in Teutonic women. "Was this your idea?" she asks me...(who elses' could it be?). She states for her it was a gift from her husband. Marital problems, I think to myself. Very sneaky. We arrive at a peak, which now dwarfs the station that I thought was already high enough to launch from! Three pilots walk ahead with three huge sacks on their backs. They suggest we 'sit and relax on the rocks'...... 'right...relax'. The para-sails begin to unfold and I witness cords that look no stronger than string licorice. 'Are these at least edible? ' I can only hope, imagining being stranded in the trees, gnawing at the cords for survival. Waiting for our cue, we are swarmed by buzzing, biting mosquitoes, attracted by our fear induced sweat. If there is one thing that could force me to leap off of a mountain; one thing, more motivating than running from a mad man, a dangerous tiger or snakes, it would be, MOSQUITOES. This, I think, is very, very, cleverly disguised motivation for the jump compliments of mother nature. We wait; growing ever more anxious, swatting mosquitoes, sharing nervous sighs.... "I am worried about the landing" one of the German's pipes up. "The landing!!".... 'Good god! I hadn't even begun to consider the landing.....' Suddenly, we are waved down by the zealous fellas. It is time. What was earlier referred to as 'ground school' in the brochure, consisted of, "Hi I'm Gavin, step into this harness”, (no sturdier it seems, than your lunch backpack as a kid). “Are you sure it's supposed to feel this loose?” I begin my prattle of questions. “Yup”. He hooks us in with two giant rock climbing caribiners. “That's it?Two hooks”? “Yup”. “Okay...well...well, are these stitched on okay”? I pull frantically at the loops. “Yup”. Ignoring me now, he continues, “Now, here's what you do, I need you to walk fast-- and when I say run, run as fast as you can. Don't look at your feet. Look straight out or you'll lose your balance.” “What if I freeze up”? (Now, I have made him nervous.) “The faster you run, the safer the takeoff”. 'Nough said. I decide I will run like the wind. “Okay walk”, he says, “Right now?!” “Yes' ...go....whoa, now run......RUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” And so I run like the wind; like the wind with the drag of a grown man and a wind-sail behind me. Good thing I am built like a Clydesdale. Finally my linebacker shoulders earn their stripes. And then, my feet no longer touch earth, just like that, I am suspended above terra firma, and flying. Wind in my face. Silence. The world suddenly falls away. My mind finally shuts up. IT is calm. I am calm. I am flying. IT is ridiculously amazing, the most tremendous feeling of utter freedom. Emancipation. IT feels like we are floating for hours. Far below, we soar over forest, mountains, clouds, sea, city, neighbourhoods, other soaring birds, tiny toy cars; suspended in a surreal movie, none of it involves me and yet there I am, a part of it all. Floating above the altitude of worry, obligation, and fear. It is pure joy and freedom. It is simply awesome. Bliss as I have never known. And then........then it comes time to land. Cognitive Dissonance, take two. Brain stem: “oh my god, oh my god”, Pre-frontal cortex: “you are okay, breathe, you are safe”. Limbic system: “omg, omg”. “Breathe”. “Silent scream”. “Breathe”. ........and so it goes..... Burning off the altitude, involves a corkscrew downward spiral, much like a descent into hell. I start doing Lamaze breathing, 'phew, phew, ' like I am in full on labour, as we plummet rapidly toward the soccer field below. Nausea has joined me as a fierce companion and I desperately hope I do not vomit to sully such a majestic adventure. Bonk! We're down. I am kneeling on the ground. Then immediately I slump, starfished and immobile. Seriously motion sick. Glamourous, this is not, but I am deeply relieved to be hugging the ground. "You did great" he says, the usual build up. Although, I believe it to be true, because for the half hour we flew together, I was free as a bird, and floating on the thermals with a peaceful and euphoric smile on my face. Now however, I refuse to move, grateful for the experience, but no longer able to cooperate. I am still calm and deeply satisfied on the inside, if not a little green. There is no way you could get me back into that truck. Forget it. No more. We shake hands, he gives me the photo disk, and we say “Adios”. So.......there i lie, under the glorious, expansive sky that graciously accepted and buoyed me; now cradled by the earth that welcomed me safely back, and, I simply wait. Wait for the nausea to pass, for the brain to catch up to the body, for my spirit to return to me; as I can still sense it high above, flying on a wing and a prayer, playing birthday antics, and sharing my dare. And I am happy and amazed. *** During this longest winter night, another significant time of change and passing; darkness and winter can both serve to remind us that we are enriched by having these contrasts in our lives, lending greater poignancy to the joy of growing light. New beginnings are relative to our own innate timing as well as the events that shape our lives. On the auspicious winter solstice, I light a single candle to warm the night. Reflections of the passing year and preparations for Christmas are in full swing. Not every beginning is marked by a literal leap off a mountain, yet a leap of faith remains our most prized possession against the darkness and self-doubt, to light the way. Rituals can be simple and still powerful. Like the lighting of a candle. Happy Holidays and Peace to you and yours. |
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