Joyful Wrecks: Reflections on living...

Healing and Curing

 

Healing does not mean curing, although the two words are often used interchangeably, While it may not be possible for us to cure ourselves or to find someone who can, it is always possible for us to heal ourselves. Healing implies the possibility for us to relate differently to illness, disability, even death, as we learn to see with eyes of wholeness. Healing is coming to terms with things as they are.

–Jon Kabat-Zinn, from Letting Everything Become Your Teacher

Sending greetings. Trudy

The Moment by Billy Collins

It has become familiar to us now to hear the refrain about living in the moment. I enjoyed this poem of Billy Collins as he playfully struggles with "which moment." Poets teach us to take ourselves lightly. Enjoy your moments today.

The Moment

It was a day in June, all lawn and sky,

the kind that gives you no choice

but to unbutton your shirt

and sit outside in a rough wooden chair.

 

And if a glass of ice tea and an anthology

of seventeenth-century devotional poetry

with a dark blue cover are available,

then the picture can hardly be improved.

 

I remember a fly kept landing on my wrist,

and two black butterflies

with white and red wing-dots

bobbed around my head in the bright air.

 

I could feel the day offering itself to me,

and I wanted nothing more

than to be in the moment –but which moment?

Not that one, or that one, or that one,

 

or any of those that were scuttling by

seemed perfectly right for me.

Plus, I was too knotted up with questions

about the past and his tall, evasive sister, the future.

 

What churchyard held the bones of George Herbert?

Why did John Donne’s wife die so young?

And more pressingly,

what could we serve the vegetarian twins

 

we had invited for dinner that evening

not knowing then that they travel with their own grapes?

And who was the driver of that pickup

flying down the road toward the single railroad track?

 

And so the priceless moments of the day

were squandered one by one –

or more likely several thousand at a time –

with quandary and pointless interrogation.

 

All I wanted was to be a pea of being

at rest inside the pod of time,

but that was not going to happen today,

I had to admit to myself

 

as I closed the blue book on the face

of Thomas Traherne and returned to the house

where I lit a flame under a pot

full of water where some eggs were afloat,

 

and while they were cooking,

stared into a little oval mirror by the sink

just to see if that crazy glass

                                         had anything particular to say to me today.

 

Earth Day is Everyday

In honour of "earth day" I found this little poem/blessing by Pat Cane. It seemed perfect for the day.

We join with the earth
and with each other,
to bring new life to the land,
to recreate the human community,
to provide justice and peace,
to remember our children,
to remember who we are...
We join together
as many and diverse expressions
of one loving mystery,
for the healing of the Earth
and the renewal of all Life.

Walking to work today. Choosing this day to begin again.

HAIR (this was way too much fun to do)

Make photo slide shows at www.OneTrueMedia.com

A poem for Sue and by Sue

This poem, written by Sue, touched me deeply when I received it last year around this time. Besides the special gift of sharing her words, she gave me permission to share it when I chose, with others. I know that in a time of distress it opened my heart and gave me strength. I offer it, humbly, as a gift to pass on to you. May you too be strengthened by these words.

With appreciation and love, Trudy

The aching heart breaks open in a fountain of tears

that fall like hot rain

cracking the outer shell and turning hard clay beneath

into flowing mud.

 

Put on your age-old beads of karma

polished and worn with each year of life.

Attend to the bright diamond of clarity

hard won.

 

Plant a new seed.

Grow a tree

that offers shade from the harsh sun

and gives light to the dark night.

 

Take care of the soft heart-body.

This is the boat that will carry you

across dark waters.

 

Take care of this moment.

All is well.

 

 

Getting Use To a New Life

So Far, So Good

"We often react as if life is attacking us. “I’m not going to be able to stand this,” we fret as life pushes us beyond our snug little ego comfort zone.

But we have no evidence of not being able to handle anything life brings us.

How do we know that? We’ve handled everything so far."

–Cheri Huber, from When You’re Falling, Dive (Keep It Simple Books)

Dr. Alistair Cunningham writes that as you start to feel healthy again after cancer, you are at a very dangerous time. His reasoning is that you begin to think that you are back to normal and you can pick up where you left off. Where in fact you are just beginning the road to recovery, post treatment, which requires a different mindset again.

 When I read the word of Cheri Huber from Tricycle this morning, I knew that this had been written as a reminder for me. Not that I was feeling I couldn't handle my life, but rather it is the challenge of getting use to a life different from the one I had known. That's it really. My body/mind is no longer the one I had grown accustomed to these past 60 years. I don't even look the same.

And yet I have the same tendencies, which now get me into trouble because I don't yet have the same capacity to do what I once did. The trouble is mostly with myself, as like Alice, "I sometimes scold myself so severely as to bring tears to my eyes." 

Learning to be uncomfortable with myself, while continually adjusting the rudder, and still moving forward is my learning curve. Learning to integrate work/home/others/self is now my own personal research project. I talk a good line but it is much more difficult to apply. And yet I am convinced there is a way. It is bound to take time and imagination and a willingness to take risks and discover when they don't work to try something else. 

We all have so many opinions about absolutely everything and I am discovering that my opinions aren't serving me well anymore. What picks me up, when I get down, isn't my opinion of what should be but rather an acknowledgement of what is. And then it is more apt to be the question's that can lead on to an experiment... rather than searching for hypothetical answers. I don't need to try and figure out if there is any benefit in going swimming one day a week, instead of three to five times, since I am not going at all these days.  All I need to do is go swimming one day and see for myself. What might happen if I were to do that? I don't need to fret about why my mind needs more quiet time to think, process and execute ideas but I can choose to work on a day when noone else is around and see for myself how beneficial this is. I can stop the tape that says "but you should be able to..." and acknowlege that things have changed. One thing at a time works best now. Slow time. I can learn to be reasonable.

Life is amazing! And Cheri Huber is right. We have lots of evidence that we can handle what comes up. I suppose the difference boils down to handling it with grace, imagination and kindness or handling it with resignation, indifference, or self-pity. The latter way is much more painful. I suspect that paying attention to what is and making ongoing continual and gentle adjustments is part of the difference.  Hmm...sounds like someone I know...yes, my Mother.

Wishing you all a lovely Sunday. Trudy  

Easter on Gabriola Island

 

Lately I have been feeling a little up-rooted. Homesick for the west coast. So tomorrow, Good Friday we are taking a 1060 KM roadtrip to Gabriola Island.We leave here at 5:30 AM and if all goes according to plan, we will be on the 7:00 PM ferry from Vancouver to Vancouver Island. (we do have a reservation) From there if we are lucky, we will board another ferry around 9:00 or 10:00 for a twenty minute ride to Gabriola, our old home.

Wild and crazy, you ask? Probably. But what fun. We will be driving into spring the entire trip once we reach Revelstoke about 4 1/2 hour drive west of Calgary.And then we will see the green. So many variations of green and as we come to Vancouver and the Island, flowers and blossoms and family and friends and oh so much beauty. Sure, it may be raining but my parched skin needs the moisture so I welcome what I previously tired of.

We will have two days on Gabriola, a half day and an evening in Vancouver with my son Rob, Allison and her parents and drive home on Tuesday. Not everyone would do this. Gottfried is game.

While we are there, we get to celebrate my Mother's 89th Birthday. How wonderful is that. So I may twitter now and then but no posting until we return.

Please have a wonderful beautiful Easter week-end. Bye for now and baskets full of love.  Trudy

A Bouquet For Patsy

What a delightful surprise to read Patricia Ludwick's last comment and discover that she is the poet from yesterday's post. A Canadian poet no less, inspired by a line from Hopkins: "There lives the dearest freshness deep down things..."

As you know I had wanted to post one of Patsy's poems and now I have, without permission but with her blessing after the fact. The bouquet for Patsy is a photo of the current flowers on my dining room table. They were a gift from Gottfried and we have no idea what they are called, but they are beautiful too.

And so, another day begins and may yours be filled with warmth and light. Love, Trudy

Spring

Oh my goodness. Today and yesterday the sun was working in Calgary. The entire city was running and walking on paths; climbing outdoor stairs; smiling; waiting patiently in line-ups and at stop signs; eating ice-cream and basking in the pure delight of the warmth. Nothing could wipe the smiles away today. It appeared that we were all luxuriating in this precious day, including the birds who have been singing their hearts out all day long.

Patsy sent me a poem today by Gerard Manley Hopkins  (actually, just found out that Patsy penned these words) that speaks to this joy. I hadn't read it before but it will go in my book of favourites.

Gardening

The very air swept clean and bright,
each leaf holding its trembling drop of precious rain,
a thousand thousand daisies opening their hearts
to the blessed sun, trees wild in the wind
scattering their blossoms in profusion , the surge
of green in every lifting blade of grass, translucent
in the light of this amazing day —

put down your tools,
kneel and raise your hands in celebration
of this amazing Earth, who labours
to bring us forth again, newborn,
delivered from another winter,
radiant with life.

Enjoy these moments. This photo is of a Calgarian jogging in spring, courtesy of I stock.

 

A Poem from Patsy

Spring is the hopeful season. Two of my Gabriolan friends have given me what I needed for this post. The photo is from Karen's garden last year and Patsy, who is a poet herself, sent me a bouquet of poems.  Perhaps one day she will permit me to give you the gift of one of her own finely crafted verses.  I chose this from her selection. A poem of spring from my  "poet" friend, Ryokan, who lived and died long before I was born. I do believe if we had met we would have liked each other.

I hope you aren't missing any little crocuses or snowdrops or daffodils. Keep your eyes peeled.

As always, Trudy

First days of spring -- the sky
is bright blue, the sun huge and warm.
Everything's turning green.
Carrying my monk's bowl, I walk to the village
to beg for my daily meal.
The children spot me at the temple gate
and happily crowd around,
dragging at my arms till I stop.
I put my bowl on a white rock,
hang my bag on a branch.
First we braid grasses and play tug-of-war,
then we take turns singing and keeping a kick-ball in the air:
I kick the ball and they sing, they kick and I sing.
Time is forgotten, the hours fly.
People passing by point at me and laugh:
"Why are you acting like such a fool?"
I nod my head and don't answer.
I could say something, but why?
Do you want to know what's in my heart?
From the beginning of time: just this! just this!

                               Ryokan (Japanese monk, 1758 - 1831)