the beauty of resilience.....

The other day while at the College, I was standing just outside a classroom quietly talking with a colleague just around the time the students took a break.  (I wonder why we don't call it recess at the College?)  A 25-ish year old student opened the door and stepped out right in front of me.  She was wearing a low cut tank top and jeans. Peaking out of her top were two elaborately designed tatoos of hummingbirds.  In flight. Larger than life. They looked like they were escaping from her breasts.  

Before I could stop myself and gather my sense of decorum, I exclaimed..... "Wow!  I love your hummingbirds! Those little birds fascinate me!" 

Luckily no one around me seemed to consider this a gaff and the student was thrilled that her "birds" were acknowledged.  My enthusiastic outburst  led to hearing the story behind her choice of tattoo. She came to life. Big smiley bright eyes!  Pleasantly surprised that I had even noticed.  I mean, how could one not notice??  The woman has brightly coloured hummingbirds flying out of her breasts and no one comments?  

Her choice of personal skin-art  was a tribute to her Dad who had passed away.  He had a backyard full of hummingbird feeders that lured the little beings to his home every summer.  He loved their vitality.  So does his daughter. 

Serendipitously,  I have been a bit obsessed with these tiny creatures of late because I have a few hummingbirds who have made my backyard their home this summer too.  During times when I've found a few moments to take a relaxing breath over a  morning cup of tea, or an end of the workday sigh, I have watched them with fascination and tried to capture their life essence in a poem. 

I find myself drawn to their energy as they flit and flummer, wings thrumming as fast as plane propellers, from one flower bloom to another seeking sweetness.  Did you know that a hummingbird lives on the tipping edge of dying?  Their full flight bursts exhaust their energy reserves so dramatically that they are constantly on the verge of starvation.  It makes sense.  They rarely stop!  Their busyness and focused determination to fill up their reserves with sugary sustenance seems to defy this fact. 

Hummingbirds exude excitable confidence. Inherently, they use their needle sharpe beaks to hone in on the blossom's soul where honeydrips await.  I watched one hover around a purple lilac with such purpose and focus. His irridescent wings and purple and green sheen body never stopped.   As it reached into every little bloom, I wondered if the little hummer felt like it had won the jackpot!  One flower head.  A thousand honey spots.

The other morning before it was time to head off to work, I sat on the side steps of my deck to enjoy my tea and the view of the river.  The weather this spring has been so wet and gloomy that when the sun manages to push away the grey clouds, there is a stronger sense of hopeful joy in the moment than if we had been blessed with better weather.  

Quiet and still..... grounded.  That's how I felt as I took in the sights and sounds of nature all around me. There was a chorus of songbirds harmonizing, communicating, expressing their truimphs and their love desires. Beautiful sounds!  As I listened,  I let the breeze spirits seep through me skin to let it replace my tiredness.  It felt like an awakening........a spa for the senses.   Then, I saw him.  This tiny speck of a being sitting right in the middle of the yellow clothesline in my neighbours backyard.  One little hummer with the line all to himself.  It was comical.  He looked like a B-flat note from a music chart.  One little note from a universal scoring.  

He didn't sit perfectly still.  Hummingbirds are hyperactive. But, for him, he was perched pretty darn quietly.  His wings had stopped.   Though he was too tiny to make his head do a "bob and weave" like you would describe if you were trying to capture the head movement in a larger species, he did make the same movement....  It was more of a tip and a flit as he scanned the yard like a Lord looking over his kingdom. Then, I heard his birdcall.  He somehow managed to project his voice above the louder tweets.  I heard him call out.  I'm HERE! 

It left me in awe....... It left me feeling as sense of kindredness with my backyard buddy.  My life is so busy.  For the  most part I like it that way. There are days though when the activities are survival ones.  Maybe not physically like the tiniest member of the bird family, but emotionally/spiritually.  On the tipping edge.  Then, I take a moment to sit on my rejuvenating steps to draw in the blessed goodness of my life.  

We have the gift of nature to be our mentor.  The life that unfolds with growth and determination all around us sends messages of importance life affirming learning.  All we have to do is pay attention and relate. 

The eagle teaches us to soar in freedom...... catching gust of wind under our own wings.  The robin shares many lessons about how to build a home, to protect and provide.  Mourning Doves live in love with their soulmates.  And the hummingbird?  He is the biggest gift of them all because he is the the mentor of resilience.  

There is beauty in the song of resilience.  No matter how ugly life can get we are all more beautiful because of our attempts at making it happen.  The key is to take the time to savour the honeydrips and to keep at it!

a ghost just needs a home.....

 

Ana sat crumpled at the foot of the hill, a royal blue stone cupped in her hand. Exhausted in mind and body, she couldn't find the energy to walk up the path as she did everyday. She had lost the impetus to continue. She had lost her way. It simply felt too difficult to carry on with her mission. The meaning of it had slipped out of her grasp.

No matter what the weather, Ana had treked up to the top of the hill to place a stone she had carefully chosen and carried onto the pile which had accumulated over time. This was her lifework. She loved her stones and usually took pleasure in choosing the ones who spoke to her. Over the years, she came to believe stones were a home for spirits. They individually held ancestral stories. They were our collective legend. 

Her best days were when Ana discovered a diamond in the rough......a stone which resonated heat from its core when she cupped it in the palm of her hand. She called those ones "touchstones" because they seemed to carry lovewisdom in them, derived from living in the heart of eternity. Touchstones, she believed held the stories from the past......full of ancestral feelings. Through her eyes, the collection she had accumulated was a living piece of art....a choir. Recently, the stones had become silent. Her mission, she questioned.

There were days when she would fill a whole basket full of stones and carry them up the hill. Most days, however, she journeyed with a single solitary one, like the blue gem she was holding onto. All of them were uniquely imperfect and multi-coloured.....some with pink coral bits of quartz that sparkled in the sunshine, some more muted in a rich brown like the cliffs that framed the river below. One at a time, she would place them onto the evergrowing, everchanging pile, and step back to see how her work had shaped a difference. The hill was indeed growing, as was the sculpture of stone spirits. It had felt right. Her sense of purpose filled her with a productive connection to the rest of the world, that this is what she was put on this planet to do.

Today, she had lost her footing. Her shoes were worn, full of sole stabbing pebbles. Sadly, it also seemed silly all of a sudden, and this awareness tripped her own spirit with used up air. So many people had questioned her lifework over the years, had put up boulders along her path but she was always able to overcome whatever the obstacle. Her optimism and focus usually slayed the negativity and doubt. "A ghost just needs a home....." was her reply.

For some reason though, the opponent's words now haunted her thoughts and the more she listened to them replay in her head, the more she felt rejected. She looked at her worn scarred hands dried and cracked from the salty grit, remnants of her labours, her nails chipped and ugly and was overwhelmed by a sense of futility. Misunderstood and unloved, that's how she felt. Her mission rejected. Her person rejected. When did her own self entwine with her mission? When did they become one in the same? She didn't have the answer.

As she sat in a heap afternoon, Ana looked at the last touchstone she had discovered. It was a smooth blue stone with white cracks etched on its surface. Its size fit perfectly in her palm, but it was far from perfect. In fact, it held character.......with chipped edges softened by the tides. This one  she had carried with her for a long time.  For some reason, she couldn't part with it.  Instead, she had kept it tucked in her pocket for company. 

So, as she sat questioning whether or not this truly was her legend or whether it was about to change, she found herself clutching onto the blue stone rubbing it's softness., hoping the spirit it held would speak reassurances.  She ran her fingers unconciously over its fissures feeling the warmth generated from her touch. It helped her surrender her worries to the air around her. The more she repeated the movement, the more she could feel her muscles relax and her mind clear.

Time stretched on unnoticed as Ana found comfort in her meditation.....so much so that she was startled completely when she looked up and saw a man hiking down the hill close to the path she used everyday. In all of her days working on her mission, she had never seen anyone else on her hill. But, there he was. His steps seemed light and energetic, his arms swinging in purposeful motion. Continuing to stare at him like he was an apparition, Ana stood up to greet him as he reached the bottom of the hill.

"Have you been to the top of the hill?" he asked smiling.

"Oh, yes," Ana replied, "I walk up every morning," her reason kept silently in her pocket cupped in her hand. "And you? Is this your first time hiking in this area? I'm surprised I have never seen you before."

"You've seen the altar then?" he asked boldly. 

Before she could overcome her confusion and gather her thoughts he continued...."Our paths probably havent crossed because I always take my walk at this time of day after I've finished my work. I find this is when the angle of the afternoon sun gives the altar a warm welcoming glow. Somehow, the stones someone has placed together comes alive and sings to me...." The look on Ana's face must've made the man realize she didn't know what he was referring to. He continued..."you have seen the altar, right?"

"No, well yes I have," blurted Ana, "it's just that I see it as a piece of artwork and nothing more."

"Oh, it's much more than that. Maybe you've never experienced the feeling because you're usually here in the morning" he reassured her. "Someone has worked very hard to build a beautiful chantry and at this time of day, when the sun warms and reflects its light off the golden touchstones the spirits share their wisdom with me. I hope you don't think I'm crazy, but I have found a place where I can lay my worries, where I can relax. It is where I come to pray everyday. It's where I give thanks."

"The stones speak to you? You pray there and give thanks?" Ana asked a bit dumbfounded. He tentatively nodded, unsure as to how this woman was receiving the informaton he shared with her.

"They speak to me too," she admitted...." which is why I have walked up this hill everyday with a new stone in my pocket to add to my art. I wanted to give the ancestral stories they hold a home."

"You built the altar?"

Ana nodded tentatively. "I never saw it as an altar. I saw it as spirit sculpture."

"Your piece of art is a place of worship. It is beautiful! Oh! I want you to see it with new eyes and in a new light....come with me," he said with the excitement of a young boy who has just discovered an abandoned treefort.

As they walked up the hill, the sun warming their backs, Ana explained why she was there at a different time of day. She also shared with the man how lost she had felt because her sense of purpose seemed futile to her now. She told him she was going to give up on her mission....and was so worried about what she would do next. He listened without judgement and only asked a few questions as a way to help her find her words.

It was a different path than Ana had travelled on every single day so when they reached the summit, she was approaching it from a new angle. So, as soon as the stones came into her sight, Ana stopped abruptly and looked directly at the pile of stones which suddenly had transformed from an abstract piece of art to what the man had described. She saw the altar. Not only that, she heard the choir of spirits reflected from the afternoon sun.

Smiling, she approached her loving stones....the ones she had given a home to....and knelt down in front of them. The man knelt down beside her and quietly whispered...."You may have started your lifework by providing a place where the stories could find a home, but somewhere along the line, your mission changed.....you have built yourself one."

"I see that now......I see that now...."

Ana bowed her head that day and prayed the only two words needed in prayer.

"thank you."

______________

postscript........  

I wrote this piece over a year and a half ago.  I was in a very different place and it entailed sitting at the bottom of a hill wondering what the purpose was of my writing and the obsession with it. 

We begin projects (ie blogging) with clarity of purpose and so often we lose the thread which ties us to the original reason. Or perhaps the reason for the journey begins to take on a different meaning. For so long, I saw myself as a "collector of stories." The stories others shared had a home within me. They had a voice too when I became a storyteller.  I am a counsellor and a writer.  My blog is the temporary home I chose to collect my "touchstones..."  I set out to create a piece of art through my writing.  I now see that I have been building an altar.  Today for the first time, I see this.  

Amazing grace. How sweet the sound.

Somewhere along the line, as I collected and shared.....the meaning of my work, the direction of my journey began to take on a new shape as I realized the touchstones in my life have been providing me with lessons and have pointed out the direction of a new path. Though it is still a bit blurry.....my vision needs some adjusting, I am finally seeing that perhaps I need to personally find an altar I can call home. 

It wont be a traditional one.  I ain't a traditional kind of gal.  I clearly don't see myself studying to become a Minister working within the walls of a church.  I'd rather be out in the forests looking for waterfalls and talking to lost waifs.  I see myself facilitating...... up in front of others.  My vision however, always  begins at the source of my writing.  This is what will lead me.  This  blog is  where I found my voice.

I have a long way to go.....and I don't know the way or even how to go about it. But I do see it and my God, I'm blessed with the guidance of many to help me along the way. It is what I want. The spirit in me  just needs a home.  The foundation is set.  I am unstuck walking up that hill, a blue touchstone in my hand.  Let the choir sing.  

hellos, goodbyes and important life lessons

Miss Muskie and her crew of campers, circa 1980 

 I have never been able to encapsulate the intense feelings that accompany an experience of living for an extended period of time amongst a group of people who are all around the same age.  However, when I meet up with someone who has had such an opportunity, there is almost an unspoken smile, a nod and a faraway glimmer in their eyes.  They know.  They know.

For 12 summers during my youth, I spent time immersed in a community that offered this expansive emotional ride.  At age 9, I attended Camp Kawabi for the first time as a camper and fell in love with the place and its energy.  It began as a two week stint, but morphed into one month at age 12, and then the whole summer when I transitioned onto staff when I was 15, continuing until it was time to say goodbye the very last time the summer I turned 21. 

Even though its been more than 25 years since then and many of the events, activities, connections, the late night antics, days off, canoe trips, chapels, campfires, hot summer sunny days and rainy day hikes have blended together, there are moments which are still so crystal clear.   They allow me to revisit a time when I learned how intense a keenly felt sense of belonging can alter how you look at the world and what is really important in life.   Friendship, love, acceptance, trust in others, trust in myself, respect and appreciation for differences, mentoring, supporting one another, helping others .......... all continue to feed my sense of who I am, what I believe in and who I strive to be with confidence.  Most predominantly ensconced however are the feelings which I treasure... ALL of them. 

These are the same emotions and values which we learn from our families as well, but when a person has the chance to step out beyond their own nest into a group and experience the unbelievable joys and sorrows of belonging?  It takes you to a place one can only share with a kindred spirit who has experienced it as well.  Believe me, I've tried to explain this but I've never managed to get it right. 

These thoughts have re-emerged of late as I've done my best to help my children make sense of it.  In the past 5 months, they have experienced this amazing intensity;  last summer for my daughter when she signed on as a Counsellor in Training at Camp Glenburn and more recently for my son, who just returned from a month in Costa Rica with an organization called CISV (Children's International Summer Villages.) Both of them have ventured off our front lawn to live amongst a group of peers, led by trusting people. They have learned many new skills which will come in handy as they grow into adults.  The values we have done our best to pass on to them have been reinforced fully by their experience. And, they have made longlasting heart connection friendships with others who draw upon the same feelings and the same values.  Independently, they both found themselves immersed in a sense of belonging so wondrous that it left them reeling.  

Martha and her Glenburn kindreds, smiles from the inside out

Not wanting the moments to end, they returned home overwrought with the sorrow of saying goodbye to the friends who are like family and goodbye to life altering happenings.  Many stories.  Many questions and new ideas. Big tears.  Big pain.  Big transitions back to the ordinary reality of a home routine and the reconnection to family and friends they had left behind. To say this adjustment is difficult is an understatement.  To say these life lessons are important is also an understatement.  Why?  Because so many internal shifts happen during these opportunities and they happen within a relatively short time frame.  It takes a while to adjust, to refocus, to recognize the personal impact.  It's all positive in the long run, but in the short run, the initial feeling of pulling away from a group your whole spirit was blended into is akin to losing a piece of yourself. I wish everyone could have a chance to go through this ride. 

For some mysterious reason,  I spent their first days home with them alone.   With my daughter, I was the lucky one to pick her up at camp on the last day.  If you've never seen a group of teenage camp counsellors on the morning after the campers have left at the end of the summer, you'd never believe it.  Not only do they look like a train wreck because they haven't really slept much all summer because they've worked their butts off running "the show" caring for the "ankle-biters" and stringing the late nights "hanging out" with their buddies, they have just pulled one last all-nighter as a way to stretch their final moments together.  Believe me, it's brutal!  I've been the sleep deprived counsellor with a mitt full of snotty kleenexes and a heart that feels like its been ripped out.  It is the emptiest bone weary feeling.  Now,  I can say I was the Momma loading the van of half packed bits of summer memories, luring the sobbing daughter to the front seat and then listening through my own tears to the stories and pouring emotions while trying to keep the van on the winding road home. 

My heart broke for her......... the magically lovely summer moments of bonding with kindred spirits was over.  It has changed her in ways she still isn't fully aware of.   It stretched her, comforted her, AND discomforted her.  That's what important learning does.  It offered her a really good taste of independence, of learning how to make decisions, to weigh options, to be herself and to know the unbridled trust you can feel when sharing your deepest secrets with someone who not only "gets you" but accepts you unconditionally.  Those gifts of friendship will forever be quilted to her soul.  I know, because mine still are. And you know what?  I still miss my camp days..... all these years later.  It was that meaningful. The lessons linger...........  The lessons guide me daily.

We talked and talked, just the two of us for a whole day.......... I left her alone when she needed to sift through her memories and I tried to be there for her when she wanted to share a story.  I promised she could have all of her camp friends visit whenever it could be arranged, though I knew it wouldn't be the same.  My empathy was boundless and I knew her transition was going to be a rough ride.  Her friends whom she had left behind at the beginning of the summer couldn't understand her disinterest in coming back to "planet earth...."   It took time........ and a bunch of mini reunions throughout the fall to help her find her footing again while she readjusted to the changes inside herself and to have those leadership value lessons reinforced more fully.

Max in Costa Rica with his arm around his new buddy.....could the smile be any bigger?

My son who is younger than I was to have gone through such an amazing experience......... he's only 12......... also crash landed.  He returned home at the end of January.  His reaction was even more intense because the people he grew close to live in other countries around the world.......... Finland, Sweden, Brazil, England, Costa Rica, Thailand, Guatemala.... this put a whole new spin on it.  

Despite the language differences, and the adjustment to being so darn far away from home, he gathered a whole heart and head full of awareness that he will forever be changed.  Even though the geographical distances are huge and that reality is what hits him the hardest, he is tied to a group of kindreds who also absorbed the same huge lessons ..... global peace, equality, leadership, advocacy, problem solving and many many more.  He has joined a group of multi-cultural kids who have become enlightened while they became friends for life.  

On the day I spent home with my son before he returned to school, we shared tears and talked.   It was probably the most important relationship building day for the two of us.  I shared stories with him that I hadn't before.  He shared stories with me that perhaps he wouldn't have if he thought I wouldn't understand.  Like I did with his sister, I expressed to him how privileged he is to have had the opportunity to feel life as deeply as he has......... AND to know that the friendships he made will always remain with him along with his own learning.  I pointed out that he now has his own group of kindreds he will forever be attached to and that because of his opportunities, he has a responsibility to continue to expand his awareness of the plight of others.  He gets it.  At age 12, he knows that joy is eternally tied with sorrow.......... and all the feelings in between.  

It has been intense, but it has all be very very good. Tonight, I say a prayer of thanks for my own experiences at camp because once again........ they helped me understand what my children were feeling and guide them through big maze of milestones they are coping with in their young lives.  In turn, they have helped me re-evaluate those lessons I gathered up, as well as gave me another glimpse at how important those friendships have been all these years.   

 

Max learning a few new dance moves at a War Child fundraiser on Saturday evening.

wilderness....

"The soul is full of wanderlust. When we suppress the longing to wander in the inner landscapes, something dies within us. The soul and spirit are wanderers; their place of origin and destination remain unknown; they are dedicated to the discovery of what is unknown and strange."

John O'Donohue, Eternal Echoes

Frightening, the inner wilderness...it's easier to stay within the confines of the flock and not venture beyond the wire fence..... to wander through wonder.  It's risky and full of unexplored territory.  It can tip you off balance, and leave you without the ability to read the map.   A kindred friend wrote this about seeking out the mystery which only a journey into the wilderness can offer.....  As always, he made me think in a smiling sort of way..... (and miss the thoughts and feelings he used to share on his blog....)

"It was John Muir, that patron saint of the great outdoors, who stated that, ‘in wilderness lies the hope of the world.’ And if we understand that everything within God’s creation is connected to everything else, then this isn’t some romantic vision, but a prophetic word providing a legacy for a deep spirituality available to us all.

The truth is that the great religions of the World have always been nourished in the Wilderness."

We are innate seekers, introspectively and outwardly.  Deep in our bones is the drive to explore, to seek out new horizons in an attempt to find answers, to challenge our sensibilities, to stretch beyond our boundaries, to broaden our visibility.  We are home bodies too..........in need of reassurance every now and then that we belong to a flock, especially during those times in our lives when our knees weaken from wavering confidence.

It seems to me that this time of year, our wandering needs heighten as we contemplate a deeper understanding of the connections we have with the wilderness around us and in us.  It's much easier to do when you know you have a "home" to return to.  It might be easier, but is it  necessary?
I used to belong to one ..... one with walls and a steeple, with a pulpit and pews.... with a bell that would ring the call of worship.  For now, I wander.  I'm in the wild, with a picture in my mind of what a new home would feel  and look like.  It's a good place for me to be.   And you know what?  I keep bumping into people I know. That certainly makes it easier and much more fun.

out of the blue..........

 the old craft shop, where it all began.

sometimes a smile finds me when i'm least expecting it

I may not expect it, but I always know where it has journeyed from.

It comes from you.

Out of the blue, I'm captured by a twinkling moment

when you squeezed my shoulder as you walked by

when you looked over at me from across the noisy room

when you were sitting beside me and all at once we turned our heads at the same time

like we knew it was time to really look into each others eyes

My smile arrives when I remember how my heart felt

uplifted

hopeful

fresh

excited

like a shooting star in a sky so full of night magic.

it still skips a beat

when the smile from you arrives..........

sometimes a smile finds me when I'm least expecting it

but when I need it the most.

out of the blue, it comes from you.

it's like you know when to send me reassurance

that I matter.

still matter to you.

sometimes i find myself stopped in mid stride

my focus is beyond the farthest point I can see with my naked eye

to where you are

out there living

Can you feel me there with you?

out of the blue, I return a smile to you.

it's what kindred spirits do for one another.

without even thinking twice.....

anticipation.........Greenbelt.

"How can you stand next to the truth and not see it?"
U2

Dreams and thoughts
need to be spoken, written, owned
sewed into the fabric of destiny.
Only then can they be seen.
Only then can they reflect truth.
Only then will they have the potential
to become as real as touching the warm flesh of a friend.

Inside my imagination I anticipate
colours poured into a dancing mosaic.

Fueled by lyrical descriptions I have read,

worship spills out in tender cadences

among the sea of receiving minds.

I've been told the air is thin

allowing gasps of reverence to filter in scoring beauty

like jetstreams crisscrossing a clear blue sky

like orange wisps reaching out of the morning dew

like a hummingbird tickling nectar from a purple blossom,

like a smile, soaked in tears of recognition.
like an eternal echo of a whispered promise.

If I close my eyes, I picture

the deep green of late summer

a cup filled with kindred cheer

a buffet of venues under sunshine bigtops

a hand held out for me to hold

and another which will guide.

If I open my ears, I can hear

songs of hurt, hope and hallelujah

comforting silence floating in midair

deep discourse late into the night

expressions smothered by embrace.

Everywhere is walking distance if you have the time.

Dreams are within walking distance if you know which way to go.
I have walked. I am walking....

I have written, spoken, described, hoped.....

This dream of mine is now within reach.
I sit within its moment of anticipation....
a place of excitement and trepidation.

At the end of this month, I will meet up with a dream as I take part and breathe in the Greenbelt Festival. I've stood next to this truth and inside these wishes and have seen it. Soon, I will live it.

this weeks Sunday Scribblings' prompt is "anticipation..." VERY timely indeed. For more interpretations, check out their blogsite.

the grieving process

I've seen it in black and white.....bold type on a page and it seemed so simple to achieve. Follow the steps in the book. There is a method. It goes like this.....

"You will feel these things. Eventually your grief will turn into acceptance. Then, you let go and move on."

So, I rhyme the process off in my head.

Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance.
So simple.
So linear.
So void of feeling.....

I ask questions to myself,
where i am in this process?
is this normal?
am i normal?
does my reaction follow the steps?
am i over it yet?
am i over it yet?
when do i get over it?
will I ever get over it?

The "it" turns into a human picture of the one I grieve, transforming into a blue eyed twinkle, a lyrical lilt, a hearty laugh at the end of a story shared. I see an outline which fills in with warm flesh, hands open in kindness, a face with a smile lined in joyful wrinkles. I feel the energy breathing life which pulls me into your realm. I hear my name said in a voice welcome to my ears.

So real.
So real.

I keep reading the book.....somewhere, sometime, the head knowledge will seep down into my heartpocket. That will be when I may be able to let go. Maybe.

Until then? I sadly grieve on, with a hollow sigh wondering where in the world I am. For some reason, it is me who is invisible. Not you.

This week's theme prompt at Sunday Scribblings is "Where in the world?" Strangely, it took me to another one. For more (hopefully upbeat) interpretations, check out their blogsite....

To catch a thief.....we DID!

I awoke early yesterday morning all hot and uncomfortable because I am at that magical age where menopausal heat seeps into your system like a steam locomotive and PUSHES right out of your toes at approximately 4 am. I couldn't sleep let alone get comfortable and the more I thought about it, the more irritating the flames shooting from my cute little feet became. Unpleasant? It sucks! It does a number on your head too. It ain't pretty!

So, it was in this frame of mind that I found myself cooling down in front of a blasting fan with a cup of tea in my hand checking out the recent posts of my bloggie friends. OH, shut up! I can hear you from here! What the hell is she doing drinking hot tea in the middle of a late forties FLASH? I recognize the contradiction. I'm a creature of habit. Tea and 4 am blog reading go together. Oh, who am i kidding, tea goes with everything. It was the first thing I asked for after 23 hours of hard labour and dammit, they brought me one! A cuppa in one hand and a newborn in the other. So why the hell wouldn't it go with menopause??? I'm a thirsty multi-tasker. Irish, Scottish and English flows through my system. I.am.doomed for a spot of tea.

Quickly, the heat moved right into my gut when I innocently checked a copyright site (I have since posted it on my sidebar) and found that my own formulated words from a piece I had written just this week had been nicked and used by another blogger, living and breathing (uneasily NOW) in Malaysia. I had seen many visits on my sitemeter over the past 6 months from there, but never thought much of it, because most people who visit my blog don't leave comments. They read and move on with hopefully something to think about. THEY DON'T NICK IT! Needless to say, I felt pierced and violated. I couldn't believe it!!! How could anyone consider owning much of what I've written when it comes from my own essence?

At first I thought perhaps he had stolen just this piece because only one was caught by the copyright site, but I thought I'd check his previous posts, and saw that he had lifted whole posts, as well as bits of pieces I had written as starting points for his own posts. Photos, poetry, prose, even silly Q and A posts were used by this guy. (Interestingly, I surreptitiously learned that much of what I've written does have my own unique style....my fingerprints were easy to see! I didn't know that until I went through Anton's blog! They jumped right out at me! SO, thank you Anton you eeejit.....your immoral behaviour actually enhanced my awareness! funny how that happens eh?)

Tonight, however, he's gone. Oh, he showed up again under a new name and blog site with most of my writing missing though a few still standing like he owned them. But after the pressure of my friends, he high tailed it out of blogland. Again. We'll see if he shows up in another form. Most likely, he will. The HEAT is on him now! I'm cooling my heels.

Plagarism is a more than just a surface blight. It is a complete and utter violation. Immoral and illegal, it is fraudulent action of someone whose morals are despicably missing. Consequently, I have been in touch with an old university friend who is a lawyer with a large copyright firm in Toronto and she is researching internet ownership rights and whether there is a precedence set in the land of blogging. Obviously there have been situations where published articles have been stolen from the media and visa versa, but its unknown as to whether a piece of creative writing stolen from one blogger to another has ever been brought to court. I'm very interested to find out and await her counsel.

In the meantime, I have been in touch with the Blogger folks and have asked them to help me with respect to dealing with the pieces which have been cached under ANTON's blogname. I am incensed that my work....my creative intellectual property will forever be floating out in cyberspace under his name and i can't rectify it.

What started out as a feeling of being alone turned into the most extraordinary day of feeling lifted by a wide ranging group of BEE UUU TEEEE FULLL people who came to my aide. Mike, my very first bloggie friend shared this with a group of us through an email that flew around the GLOBE!!!
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Dana, et al.,

It would appear that the blogging community has dealt the blog in question it's death blow. Earlier, the link you provided did not go to that specific post, but the blog could still be accessed. There was just one post - probably stolen as well. I flagged the blog based on your email - your word is good enough for me - and I suspect I was not alone. The blog in question (now just a short time later) no longer exists. It is as it should be. I have no problem with anyone reposting my work as long as three simple conditions are met: it cannot be for commercial use; it must be properly attributed; and it cannot be altered from its original form. If anyone reproduces my work as their own, I get angry. Very angry. More than angry, I get justice - and it appears as though justice has been served.
It's good to see the blogging community working together. Most of us do this as a labour of love - for ourselves and anyone else who finds our words insightful, amusing, cathartic or whatever other value they may hold. We don't (most of us) get paid to do this, but it is work nonetheless. For someone to steal it is wrong on too many levels - that it is illegal is only the tip of the iceberg.
You are a kinder soul than I, Dana. I would not have given (and in fact did not) this so-and-so a chance to remove the plagiarized material... I simply would have hit him or her with everything I had. The crime has been committed - it goes well beyond mere intention or a "little" mistake - we are talking about entire posts!
I have not checked to see if my material (which is copyrighted and noted on my blog) has been stolen in a while. Although it is difficult to be absolutely sure, it looks like my property remains within my control. But thanks for the reminder, it is a serious issue.

Mike

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My reply....?

Hello everyone.....:)

Blogging most certainly is a labour of love, Mike. You are so right. It is also such a wonderful community of shared passions. So often I am inspired by something I've read, like a jumping off point for my own writing. There is a terrific give and take, and when someone violates that flow of creativity by stealing, it is wonderful to know (and feel) that the community does pull together.

I thank you all for your assistance. I have sent him another email threatening him and making it perfectly clear that I won't sit idle again and let something like that happen. I also told him he should be ashamed of himself.....asked him what the Dala i Lama would think of such sinful behaviour! :) Buddhist my ass!

I did get in touch with Blogger and file a formal complaint. Whatever he has posted in the past has been cached, so they can still follow up if they havent done already.

I wish I had copied the comments from everyone! They were priceless!! I had a few facebook friends nail the guy as well, so I am completely confident tha t he is shaking in his weasley boots today.

Thank you all! I'll post something about it all, hopefully tonight.

cheers...

I'm off to pour myself a glass of wine and toast you all xxx
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Thank you all for you kindness and concern. I can't tell you how grateful and humble I feel. The attention you poured on not only energized my drive to tackle this situation, but left me feeling affirmed as a writer and a friend. Carmi? A very special thank you to you my dear friend. If I may, I will post a separate blog with the correspondance you initiated on my behalf. I can't tell you how much I appreciated your efforts. Remind me never to get on your shit list! haha!

I am actually very fired up and more interested in writing because of this episode. Over the past couple of weeks, I was seriously considering leaving blogging. M y ideas felt stale, and my fingers weren't finding the keyboard as enticing. In fact, I had intended to write a piece this weekend and entitle it "To Blog or not To Blog...." However, this has spurred me on, and certainly made me realize just how important, precious and inspiring this little virtual global village is to me.

A lot of reflections happened yesterday...... good strong reflections on the importance of community, the joy of belonging, the empowering sense of efforts. I may have started yesterday alone simmering in a hot flash with a cup of tea in my hand and a look of horror on my face when I first realized my work had been lifted...... but it sure wasn't long before I was joined by a beautiful force to be reckoned with!

thank you ..... thank you....

Now I have to get a group of 5 beautiful camp counsellors (three of whom are sleeping as new best friends in my basement as I write) back to camp after a two day respite. I've fed, and laundered.....and listened to many hilarious stories... I plan to orchestrate a singsong along the way..... won't they LOVE that?? Little do they know that Muskie has taken over me today.....and she's drivin!

PS. Anton? You out there??? I have yet to receive that email you told Carmi you were sending me. If YOU try to steal my work or anyone else's again, you will be caught. As for what you have already done? Sit tight buddy, I have a lawyer who wants to talk to you.

a vision of you.....

I could be caught up in the most mundane errand and a surge of awareness presents itself by tickling my intuition located in the pit of my stomach. I'm left with a vision of your being, clear as midday, like you're standing before me rather than an apparition inside a memory. What's so fascinating to me is that there never seems to be a preceding trigger....no song snippet, no reminiscing thought of a time we were face to face catching up over a shared meal. It seems like this surge of you appears like a random flash of light that shines into a crevasse I'm not even acknowledging at the time I'm focused on the routine.

I see you. I see you inside me.

I feel your wrinkled smile behind my own eyes.

You presence warms me.

My first thought is to wonder if the same surge has struck you.....if at that exact moment you have a clear vision of me in you. Then, I wonder if you're alright. Because it is so startling...the poke you've left in my head....the stirring of my senses........, the connection I feel with you right there and then, I lose momentum for a second as I tumble towards you.

Sometimes when there is no way of talking to you or sending you an email, I whisper your name as a way to acknowledge the synchronistic feel, as my way of sending out a smoke signal into the wind hoping it will find you wherever you are, doing whatever you're doing. I whisper a message, send you my kindred echo to flow outward in a rippling wave hoping it will get caught in an air pocket once silent, now filled with a piece of my heart.

I wonder.....do you ever hear it? Do my telepathic messages touch you? Do they ever reach you in the middle of that moment? If I phoned you right then, even after all this time of not directly communicating, would you answer knowing it was me? I believe you would.

Sometimes, and NOT when I'm driving, I close my eyes to process my temporal visit with you, my eternal friend..... to prolong the happening....to register the meaning. What is its meaning, you ask? I honestly don't know the full story behind the reason for our woven souls....why its you and why its me. Chances are we won't figure it out in this lifetime. As you know, most everything I try to find meaning...I try to reason. I'm a "I want to know it person...." But when it comes to why God tossed us together in the first place, I'm calmly fine about it. For me, our connection is a lesson in providence. He does have a sense of humour, God. Who would've thought? No one would've predicted.

God had the original vision didn't He? We are the recipients of a gift. I knew it the moment it happened and I smile knowing that our entwining souls were a part of His gameplan. His lesson for us unfolds as it will.......beyond tangibility outward into a realm where answers are spoken by intuitive knowing.

No words. Just heightened insight. The best kind of vision there is....

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Sunday Scribblings word prompt this week is "vision." Timely since I experienced one of these moments just the other day. Do YOU experience this with a person in your life? There are a few people who "live inside me" and journey with me, some days with more prevalence than other days. What fascinates me about the kindred visions...the strong multisensory synchronistic feelings I receive is that they have grown in intensity since I began writing again and have connected with a few bloggers who have become near and dear to my heart. Though they live far away, I do experience moments when my vision of them are as clear as day. It is a gift I never expected when I began blogging and its one I treasure deeply.

For more eye popper vision...check out the Sunday Scribblings site.

soulmates

(dawn's early light...the view from my backdeck, june 8, 2009)

It happens in a flash

when you're least expecting it,

under sleepy eyes opening

to draw in a dawning of something very special.

In a blink,

two flames merge

channeling into one spirit

of effortless honesty and mutual understanding.

Soulmates....

move to a rhythm of blending lifetimes

and form from a mixture of tears and clay.

Simple yet deeply eternal

Clear yet vibrantly profound

Effortless yet energetically alive

Comforting yet soulfully emotional.

Pleasing yet discomfortably stretching.

Surprising yet divinely meant to be.

Spiritual beyond reason.

Rare beyond a dream come true.

Anything is possible when fate alights

like catching a firefly on a winter night.

When you encounter your soulmate, its like tasting mountain spring water from their cupped hands after a long walk alone in the high altitude. You have no idea where they have come from, but they arrive under a clear blue sky when there is a mutual need to quench each other's thirst.

this week's Sunday Scribblings (yeah I'm late....) is Soulmate..... For more kindred interpretations, check out their blog.

footprints

Travelling light works best with a friend.

Carrying the load

Singing a tune

Speaking inspirations

Tossing snowballs

Teasing

Laughing

Standing in awe

Wandering in wonder

Sharing secrets

Exploring the mystery

Expressing reflections

Sipping from the cup of life.....with a friend.

Travelling light....

2 sets of footprints...much better.

Let the journey be the unfolding of your prayer.

For my friend Mr. C.....my reply to your thoughts and the stunning photo you posted today.

ps. I came upon this little deer a couple of weeks ago during my work travels. I asked him where he was headed. He smiled and told me he was just waiting for his buddy and they were headed down the road to Alaska. Fancy that eh?

A dance in need of attention

I'm OK -- You're OK

It's all good................

I'm not OK -- You're OK

I'm still not OK -- You're not saying

I'm becoming OK -- You remain silent

I'm OK -- You're not OK, I guess

I'm OK, trying to reach out -- You're not sharing

I'm missing you -- I have no clue how you are

I wrack my brains wondering

what I may have done to feed your Not OK-ness

You have shut me out....Why?

I'm now not OK

I work it through and try to get on with life


Maybe you are doing the same?


I'm becoming OK again -- You are too I think.

I'm OK -- You want to talk.

I agree and try to arrange for this -- You turn away again.

I'm baffled and hurt -- You stonewall me.

We sit in silence.........separately

I'm now not OK again-- Are you? I want to know


As the sun peaks up over the river to welcome in a new day,
I wonder where this dance will lead.
I hope there's a lovely twirl in it but I'm not counting on it.
Instead, I will begin again to find myself a bucket of OK

to put over my head.

The photos were taken this morning while standing on my back deck.

Recognized as a blessing, I smile at the warm touch from God.

meaningful touchstones

Spending time with a special friend from your past who holds similar endearing memories seems to be more of a rarity as we age. Time, distance, overall busyness and other responsibilities we have commited to hold our lives hostage and away from the people we consider crucial to the make-up of our personal story. Funny, these are the reasons why we do need to make an effort to reconnect. Plus, special friends make you feel whole again.

It is so easy to float away into the blur of doing. We all have unending to do lists that if left to take control and lead our shortening days, can very quickly strangle the very essence of who you are. If we remain in the realm of always and dutifully playing the roles we assume in our daily routines.....partner, mom, daughter, worker, sister, driver, volunteer, neighbour, cook, cleaner, helper, hostess, counsellor, advocate, window washer, doer, doer, doer ....... we lose our core being. It just evaporates. Well, maybe its just that the spritzing in our essence takes a long hiatus under the masks of our own making. I don't know about you, but when I feel this floating unanchored feeling, I know I'm in need of being realigned by a touchstone in my life.


I remember when I was backpacking through Europe years ago with a friend. This was before technology took over our ways and means of communicating...of touching base. There were no avenues for instant messaging. We didn't have the opportunity to say we were one finger touch away. When you travel like that, there is a wonderful sense of being only responsible for yourself. There is a taste of freedom in the days while exploring newness with your eyes and ears and heart. It is a balm for unleashing one's potential and for stretching your boundaries. New people you meet along the way in what seems like happenstance but in truth are unmistakably fateful.....whom you share big moments together....the ones you know will be with you for the rest of your life as a stoptime exhilaration. Adventures are like that....both mind FULL and mindful.

For four months, everyday was like that. And every single night, I made an attempt to capture it in my journal and in letters to family and friends who were at home. It kept the homesickness at bay...the feeling of belonging and not free floating from one experience to another was somehow assuaged by this act. However, about every 2 or 3 weeks, I would wake up with this unbelievable need to call home. I had to alleviate a more intense urgency to make sure everything was fine, but also to ensure myself that it was real. I needed a good spritzing. Once that happened, I was good to go.


Yesterday two special friends met again. We caught up on each other's lives, shared a few new dreams, and strolled back to a time when we were in each others lives deeply. Our rambling untethered conversation (the very best kind) ran the gamut of emotions just like it should....just like it needs to if a it is a truly golden friendship. Its what a good spritzing of one's essence feels like. Meaningful, mindful........meaning FULL and mind FULL and almost enough to keep you afloat until the next time.

I just wish the next time wasn't so unknown....or far away......

Touchstones from our own stories bring life and purpose to our unfolding daily gaze. Touchstones give us the fortitude to step out again with our backpacks on in order to forge ahead into the mystery of a new day. Why? Because inside their essence is an unabiding unconditional love for you....and inside your newfound essence is an unabiding unconditional love.

Expressed, felt, known in the comfortable grace nestled between the words, it fills you with a nourishment you can only find when you connect with a person whose tapestry includes some of your own....those threads which glisten with love. And you know what? You can climb any mountain carrying a heavy knapsack if you know you are fondly loved.

"together we moved like spirits in the night.."

I walk in solitude, hemmed in by the tempo of synchroncity, a blur of jazz flirting like fingertips on a rosary. I hear the lifting of a veil and a quiet ping of spirits. They settle within the entwined echos of my footsteps lost on an empty street wet with rain. They haunt my drifting reveries with blessed caresses lightly dancing in the air all around this dark night.... spirits sacred in the boughs of sweet pine. They stay close to me on this lonely night of ten Hail Mary's until my own spirit rises up to join in the dance. And when the trumpet hits a single high note, our spirits slip effortlessly into the timbre of a holy space where mystery dwells in the ancient grace of mercy.

In a world without end, we moved like spirits in the night....together. It made all the difference.