Creativity and Effort
We control the input, not the output.
We show up, we take our seat, we keep the appointment
On the meditation cushion.
With our kids.
In the field.
At our laptop.
We meditate.
Accordion Heart
Seven years ago I wrote this. It hasn’t changed at all. I have gotten more practice in stretching this accordion heart of mine, with daughter now studying on a different continent. Back in the days when we snuggled in bed, or she sauntered into the house just like that in her teens, sharing life in the daily, I could barely fathom stretching and releasing that far, for so long. And yet, we do, don’t we? We just keep on stretching those mama hearts. Bless us all. The ones stretching their wings and those tending the harbor. We perform a daily miracle of belonging and freedom going hand in hand.
September 26, 2017
Today my mother-heart stretched again some more. it seems this is and will be a lifelong stretch. What struck me today is how visceral it is above all else. My mind was calm. My emotions too. What was in movement, where I was noticing the stretching happening, was at the layer of sensation in my body, literally as if cells were being asked to make room for more, to release, to grow my trust in this Life, to love and to let go.
And now throughout the day as my daughter wanders off into the high mountains for four days with a 40lb backpack, a new circle of friends and an extraordinary teacher as part of her wilderness school experience, it is my body that keeps sensing into her adventure… that holds her both close and far, regardless of whether my actual thoughts are with her or not. I focus on what lies before me, I enjoy the day, and simultaneously I sense expansion off into that wilderness, with her, the heart-cell-awareness ongoing.
Similarly, when she went on her first 10-day trip earlier this summer, flying on her own away from home across the great continent of Canada to stay with her aunt’s family… That day of travel, aware of her flight across plains, hills and mountains to the city of Montreal, my heart felt stretched like an accordion. It wasn’t unpleasant, although it took a bit of getting used to. My accordion-heart stayed that way for 10 days, spread over the continent before it folded back together as she neared home and walked in the door with a big grin on her face. I remember thinking of all the accordion-hearts stretched across the globe at any moment in time… threads of care, of prayer, of connection.
I watch this visceral stretching today and note with wonder the glimpse, embodied, of how interconnected we all truly are. We may notice it in much deeper fullness and clarity with loved ones, especially with our children. But doesn’t it just point to what is there under the surface anyways, all ways?
Think of those days when you cannot place sadness due to your own personal life, but you feel it seeping in under your skin, passing through, perhaps on behalf of others? You shed tears and they may be yours or they may belong to someone you will never meet.
Or the times you look at a view, or hug a friend, and sense that you are doing so for one departed from their body – lending him or her your eyes, your arms for a moment?
Or that delightful experience when you witness someone dancing or singing or doing something you would have loved to do more of, had you more time, a few parallel lives to dedicate to the many loves of this living… and then you see a friend or someone you don’t even know, doing just that and doing it so well and so beautifully and something in you relaxes, because even if it is not you doing it, it is happening, that movement, that song, that stroke of paint on canvas is happening.
These and other moments give us insights into the transpersonal nature of our humanity. The ways we are both in ourselves and beyond ourselves. We are distinct, unique, and we are undeniably connected and interwoven.
This is where my body-heart-stretch leads me today in my experience, reflections and awareness-coasting every once in a while over the mountains as I love my girl and wish her well, so well.
Sending love to all the mother-hearts and father-hearts and caring-hearts that weave threads of care and love across the planet. May those who are truly alone today, be touched by these threads, for they belong to all of us.
What if?
I am sitting under the tree that still has many leaves to shed. Those already fallen, spread around my feet, a carpet of gold.
I had to come outside. With the walls pressing in, fresh air was needed.
The temperature of the world has surely gone down this past week as the world reels in the wake of atrocities with many innocent caught in the middle.
Little ones, growing ones, parents and elders.
How have we come so low? For it is not just ‘over there.’ It is the whole of humanity that has stooped to another low low. That has lost its way. Whose pain and suffering has spilled over into an expression of more horror. We may be spared the immediate effects of such horror, and yet we are part of this same humanity that does this to one another.
What the actual fuck. mercy mercy mercy.
I sit in the shelter of the golden fall tree, rain drops start falling gently.
Grief sits on the heart. The world stooped in discouragement. My mind only barely able to touch the horror of mothers searching frantically for lost children.
I imagine the many voices reaching up to the heavens, wailing why and how and how could you? How could you, God, not prevent this darkest hour?! And more wails, in other valleys and plains, same cry and heart-wrenched anguish.
I am reminded of a mother I met years ago, who had lost her infant daughter. She spoke to me of the many words uttered that did nothing to comfort her… “It must have been her time.” “God’s will is a mystery.” “Perhaps for the better.” “Her soul only needed to land for a short time here on this earth.“ “She is in a better place.”
None of these did a thing to soothe, to understand the unfathomable grief of child cherished and lost.
But one. There was one sentence shared that changed the way the light slanted into the room, her heart, her grappling. And it was this:
“God is surely the first to weep alongside you as your bury your child.”
God weeping.
Could that be? The God we hear of with adjectives such as “all powerful”, “all mighty”, “creator of heaven and of earth”… could such a God be weeping? And not fricking intervening?
What if…
What if God is as dismayed, as torn apart — perhaps even more — than we are when witnessing the destruction we impose upon one another? Perhaps there are multitudes of angels, risen ones, God Itself, wanting so very much with every fibre of Existence to do something, to protect, to soothe, to hold back violence, to let Love flourish. And the one central contract that comes with Love is Freedom. Freedom. However terrible the choices made by the beloved and lost humans. Perhaps the heavens are filled with “WTF!?” How could they, our cherished humans turn against one other with such ferocity? Hand wringing. Wailing above, as below. Tethered to witness, in love, and limited by the contract intrinsic to Love: that Love sets free, that one gets to choose.
The closest I can get to pondering this as an actual possibility is my experience as a mother, woven with the experiences of parents across the earth over all the generations, as we are faced with this: To love your child is to let them go. Eventually. One day. They will head off into the great big world and they will make their choices. They will choose their friends, and partner. They will decide when they go to bed, what they eat, how they respond to Life in its challenges and its blessings. There is a point in each parenting journey where to hold on and hold back is to smother and stifle. There is a moment where we may watch in dismay as our child makes a choice, or a bunch of them, perhaps even years of them, that we disagree with. Weep and fret over. But Love holds the contract with Freedom. You cannot love and stifle. You cannot love and control the beloved.
Could it be that God similarly is weeping first? Is aghast at what we are choosing? Is waiting for us to reach out, up, inward… whatever the case may be, and to implore interference. To beg for mercy. To embody the Love offered. And yet, still then… the contract of Love is free will.
And could God really be trusting us to eventually make right choices? Are we not simply digging our graves over and over again? Are we not proving repeatedly and tragically that we are incapable of making right choice? If my musings hold, then who on earth came up with this design? Ha, back to God. What on earth was this Source of all Life thinking?! We are so flawed. Could there have been a better design? Is it really up to us to find peace within and amongst each other? Will we ever be up to the task? Is it truly in our hands to look at a situation as insurmountable as the conflict in the Middle East and to not give up, to keep looking creatively for the solution, the one that embraces all the people? That is all-considerate. That one. Are we capable of this?
I am reminded of the famous hands reaching between God and Human in Michelangelo’s “The Creation of Adam” fresco. One hand reaching down, the other up. Straining to reach, to touch. It has always felt to me to be an image of humans being invited to team work. To co-creativity. One wherein the ‘yes’ has to come from us, given freely. It is not enough to implore, to beg, to pray. We have to step up, step into the ring of fire too. Could we be more powerful than we ever thought, and also more powerless than we ever imagined? Could it be that God is inviting us to coordinate, to collaborate, even to synergise? It is our choice, to choose and to enact peace. To choose and enact Love. But we don’t have to do it alone.
What if.
Image credit: Daniel Bonnell
Stretching Out
Once upon a time, the stretch of carpet from one side of the room to the other was a continent
A big one
To cross by flapping your arms, then by wiggling your bum, then by crawling and then
One day, an unforgettable one, by taking a step,
And another
That led to so many
How many? So many.
Wobbly they were at first
Tumbled often, you did.
Never gave up.
You have since hiked up and down mountains.
You have crossed valleys.
You have walked along city streets.
You have danced on stages.
Your feet have touched sand, puddles, rock, grass, snow, ice, cobblestones.
Your legs have skipped at my side, with your wee hand tucked into mine, so snug.
Then you began venturing across town alone with a friend
Me, a street block behind, peeking around corners
Just to be sure that continent too was navigable.
It was. And became as familiar as the living room crossings.
And today, you drive to school.
An hour’s drive along our valley roads,
And I, similarly, driving behind you for the first time,
Just to be sure, this time for myself, for you are sure already.
And this too, I tell myself (and don’t believe yet), will become another living room.
You drive beautifully.
I sing in my car,
Sending you love,
Made-up songs of how much I cherish you.
And bless you.
As you make the world yours.
Driving behind you feels like such a treat.
That I get to pour my mother heart forwards
And watch you spread another wing, or two.
That I get to witness and wonder at your confidence and care.
And that I get to be comforted by your text: “made it safely!”
After our paths have parted for the day.
Continents drifting, stretching
Bridges getting longer
Journeys arching out
And curling back in
As we ebb and flow in this mother-daughter dance
Of Becoming and Being
Of trusting each other, and, dare we?… yes, the world too.
Dear Teenagers – thinking of you during this COVID-19 pandemic
Dear teenagers,
As we find ourselves in the middle of this pandemic — a new and disorienting experience for all of us — you, whose developmental stage it is to venture out into the world with curiosity and growing confidence, have been on my mind. Surely also because I have a teenage daughter whose daily life is suddenly stopped short. Staying home is not what you are cut out to do, even the introverts among you love to visit with a friend and stay busy with your various activities, from what I can tell.
But now you are being told (another thing that doesn’t sit so well with your natural and healthy state of wanting to figure things out for yourselves, make up your own mind and become more independent, not less!) that you must stay home. Just you and your family. Your family that you love or may have a challenging time with, or quite likely you both love and are challenged by, and a whole bunch more feelings in between.
Now you have had more cancellations happen in the past few weeks than in a usual year or decade even… swim meets, dance practice, outdoor program adventures, long-anticipated trips, soccer matches, performances and exams and graduations you have worked so hard for, parties, hangouts with friends, your first job…
I know this feels overwhelming. Unfair. And hard. Likely bewildering too — what just happened?! You didn’t see this coming even as your future has already long been shadowed by threats of a climate out of balance. But this? So fast and so drastic. You may be feeling disappointed, scared, angry. Your mood may be changing from one moment to the next… you may say things to your family members you afterwards regret, but you just feel so out of sorts. You may not know what to do with yourself… a lot of the usual options are gone for now. You may be worried about your schooling. You may just want to ignore the whole thing and pretend it’s all fine. But your go-to people when things feel hard at home — your friends — are also holed away, and as used to virtual connections as you are, it’s not the same as hanging out in the park, skateboarding together, giggling and snacking together, or chatting for hours.
On top of all that is the big unknown. While unknowns were likely already a huge part of your life (what will I do after I graduate? What do my peers think of me? Does s/he like me? How will I ever study for this exam with all the extra-curricular stuff going on? etc.) this is a whole other order of unknowns. On top of that the adults around you seem to be as bewildered as you are. Perhaps quicker to snap too, worried and stressed.
So what now?
Truly, I don’t really know. I so wish things were different. As my daughter sat with her first wave of big disappointment, I sat there with her and wished I could change the situation (believe me, your parents would love for this to go away and your life to get back to usual!). She was sad. She was angry. And stressed.
And all I could do was sit there with her and feel it alongside her. Feel my heart breaking as I felt hers crumble in dismay.
All I could say was: “I know. I’m so sorry. It’s hard. It really sucks.” And then just silence, I didn’t have more words for a while and neither did she. But then, they came: “We’ll get through this. Remember, we can do hard things. One step at a time. Let’s try not to think too far ahead, there is so much we don’t know right now. Let’s just take it one moment or day or week at a time, whatever chunk of time works best for you”.
So, as you can see I don’t know much. I just know that being there with her matters. And, even in the middle of all the unknowns, here are a few more things I do know:
1) You teenagers deserve the truth. So when parents and adults and politicians and decision makers don’t know the answer to something, they should just say so. And when you have heard enough news, just say so. If it makes you too anxious, then tell them to give you only what you need to know, no more. You can also ask your parents to not talk about the virus all the time, it will be good for them too, to take a break. We, for example, have decided that meal times will be “virus-free” conversation.
2) You also deserve comforting. Even as you are older, and possibly taller than your parents, doesn’t mean you don’t need comforting. Don’t be shy to ask. Parents of teens sometimes get unsure if their comforting is still welcome. If it is, just let them know and also how they might best express that… it might be a hug, or them giving you some space or being extra patient, or making some yummy food, watching a funny movie together…
3) Your feelings matter and make sense. You are allowed to feel whatever you feel. I hope you have a safe place to let those feelings roll through you and not get clogged up. Just remember that feelings and behaviours are different: allow all the feelings to tumble through, but don’t harm yourself or others as you express them.
4) Coming to terms with this kind of “new normal” takes time. Don’t worry if for days you feel frozen, and can’t get the energy up to do much. It’s a lot to take in and adjust to. Take your time. Do nothing for a while — most of the time you teenagers are way too busy anyways. Your energy will come back sooner if you let yourself chill for a while.
5) You are one of the most creative segments of the whole human population. The way your brains are growing during these years, the way you question things (and us adults!) and have your own ideas, the unique way you look at reality and feel intensely: all that makes you creative. I trust your creativity. I trust that you will come up with some awesomely cool ways to deal with this sh*t show.
6) In the middle of lots of Unknown, having some kind of a beat to your days, a rhythm of sorts really helps. Just a general outline (or if you’re like my daughter, a very specific list) of things that help you roll through a day and feel good about it afterwards… some creative time, some exercise, some helping out on the home front, some screen time but not all day long (on that note: monitoring how much news you listen to can really help — too much is too much. You’ll know when you feel deflated or anxious afterwards), and some time outside even if just on your porch or your yard or sticking your face out the window. Take deep breaths.
7) On that note, sometimes it helps to do things even if you don’t feel like it. Like getting up in the morning. Or playing with your younger sibling. Or reading that book you were in the middle of when school suddenly stopped. Or baking something yummy. Or apologizing when you blew up at your family. Or doing that one thing you never had time for but wanted to do more of… like writing a song. Choreographing a dance. Organizing your photos. Writing a real letter to your grandparents.
And as much as I encourage you to show up for yourself and then for your family (which includes being gentle and nice to yourself when you don’t manage!), now is also a great and important time to show up for the big wide world. Remember all those heroes and heroines in stories you read or watched as a kid? This is your time to be one of those. To do the hard thing with as much patience, courage and stamina as you can, which right now is: to stay home. Not to fly off on all kinds of adventures. Just to stay put. And to do this on behalf of the Whole, of the most vulnerable, those who could get really sick with this new virus making its rounds. It is a time to truly remember that we all belong to each other. That our actions affect others. So please, stay home — as much as that goes against your innate natural next step to seek out and find your own footing in the larger world, to move into intimate spaces with others, to explore and adventure out into your future.
If there are ways we can help you have more fun and make it more manageable staying home, let us know. If you have ideas on how we can support you in spreading your wings, even as you are asked to stay put, tell us.
As said, this doesn’t mean you shouldn’t let yourself crumble, be mad and sad, moody, unsure… whatever you might be feeling. Let that be too. It will pass if it doesn’t get stuffed down. But be both: the you with all that you may be feeling in any given moment, and also the you who can stretch and surprise yourself with showing up and making a difference in small and big ways. You matter. As does everyone else.
And again… I’m so sorry. It’s hard. But we can do hard things. And I can’t wait to see you get back to your dance & theatre performances, baseball games, fun times with friends, schedules you might complain about but also rely on, grad parties, travels, and feeling like the future is a friendly place. Until then, may we adults learn from you how we can best support you.
A mum.
Evolving Traditions — Keeping the Spark Alive
Once upon a time, when my daughter was a wee lassie, I spent a few evenings bent over the sewing machine, stitching together little bags from colourful scraps. Twenty-four bags to mark the journey of Advent for her, a cherished tradition from my childhood in Switzerland that I wanted to pass on. The bags were then filled with “pretty little things” as she would call them, and sometimes a treat (dried mango, chocolate, some nuts). Oh, how she loved this daily gift and preparation toward Christmas! It suited her 4-year old self quite perfectly. Read more
She did it!
In my home country – Switzerland – on All Soul’s Day – we wander to the cemeteries, and honor the dead. The cemeteries in the small mountain villages are alive with young and old, visiting their loved ones who have travelled on.
This year my grandmother died. I spent a week with her, just before she passed. It was a holy week, I will cherish it for always.
And tonight some words arise as I sit here in Canada, visiting my grandmother on this All Soul’s Day with my thoughts, memories and the heart that knows no distance. May your loved ones who have crossed the threshold join you this season when the veil is thin, the moon just a slice.
She did it
A strong heart, beating for over 840,960,000 breaths,
A sparkle of soul, finding the glisten of humor for over a century,
A keen caring mind, ready for wit and reflection for over one thousand two hundred months,
A heart so merry and kind, pouring out generous love for over a century.
A life full of friendship, tended relations, enfolded in a hearth she helped build,
A long life, complete with grace, hardship, pain and blessings,
Choosing over and over again to surrender to what is,
To see the gift hidden in the furrows of human turmoil.
Hands soft and gentle, reaching out in caress till an hour before departure.
A person ready to leave her earthly garment, so very ready.
But how, when there is no sickness and no accident?
How do you get out of a body, an old and fading body, but one with a strong beating heart?
We ponder together. We laugh and we wonder.
A puzzlement not met before.
We wait. Chat. Sing. Touch.
We rest together in the precious lit up moments of an unknown threshold.
And then. She does it.
A nap turns into a change of breath,
A depth of slumber like no other,
Turns into a release of breath.
She did it!
The first words that come to me as I hear of her death.
She did it. She crossed the threshold, over to the other side of the veil.
She left her body behind, she climbed out and on.
Her heart, her over one hundred year old heart stopped beating,
And freed her soul to travel on.
Bless her heart. It was a grand one.
A truly grand mother was she.
_______________________________
My grandmother had a deep abiding love for Mother Mary. I sang this Ave Maria (by Gounod) at her funeral and share the recording here in the spirit of my grandmother and this all soul’s day.
Ave Maria – sung for my grandmother – August 2019 >>
The Future of Parenting
TED-like talk at What Next Conference, Jan. 2013, on the Future of Parenting:
Renewing Culture – Keep, Chuck or Recycle?
Last week in our parenting course, one set of questions we reflected on as we consider where we come from and what we pass on to our children was:
“What do we include and bring along from our past?
What do we choose to release and discard?
And what do we transform?
In short: keep, chuck or recycle?
My lovely neighbor, Sally, sent me this photo from our community’s recent day of the dead celebration. As I sit with the many lights on the grave sites, the lineages that have come before us lie there, still. Their efforts ripple on, we carry them on within us.
Then I look at the photos of course participants’ children: wide-eyed, open, core-goodness yet unhindered. Their future in formation.
What do we as a culture pass on to our children? What chain reactions in our lineages are ready to die off, be done with, healed and laid to rest?
What can we do, within ourselves and between one another, to truly lay our dead to rest, by consciously facing and choosing what we inherit, rather than continuing an unquestioned hand-me-down version of humanity through generations?
May the light our ancestors shone, continue to guide us.
May any trauma they felt and died stuck with, be healed through us.
May we forge a new future, together.
Love Takes Many Forms ~ As Does Parenting
Often our love for our children expresses itself in hugs, in yes’s and “for sure’s”. In “let’s do just what you wish and want”, in following our little (or big) one’s lead, beck and call.
And sometimes love expresses itself in clear direction, in no’s, in putting your foot down and saying “not beyond here”. In obstructing a desire. In negating a wish.
The yes’s are usually the easier way to go. Love pours out naturally that way, and comes right back at us. With smiles and happiness, with thank you’s and contentment.
The no’s can be hard to deliver. We want our children to be happy right now. We also want them to like us, right now too. We like being their immediate heroes and heroines. We love seeing joy erupt in them. It is hard to see disappointment or hear downright “I hate you’s” coming out of their eyes, skin and words.
But no’s – if sourced from the Stillness at your centre, if coming from love and creativity rather than trigger and reaction – those no’s are just as sacred, just as loving as the yes’s coming from that same place and state within ourselves. Just as loving.
Consider this:
It’s a cold morning, minus 7 degrees celsius (that’s 19.5 fahrenheit). Girl gets dressed in her usual garb: jeans, sneakers, cute shirt, with hoodie ‘in case’ it gets cold. And specifically: no hat, no gloves, no winter boots, no winter coat, merrily and obliviously attired for a regular day at school.
Dad sees the unfolding mismatch between dress and outside temperatures, and puts his foot down, “Either you get dressed warmly, or you don’t go to school”. Distress ensues. Some dialogue too, but mainly distress and, “You don’t get me, you don’t listen to me, I’ll be fine!”
Dad stays firm, calm, loving. Doesn’t budge on the condition and knows he is not going to be the popular parent today. He takes a deep breath and stays the course.
Girl comes downstairs, holding out wrist warmers. “Can I wear these instead of gloves?” Hmmm, what will dad do now? Here’s a chance to appease her if he gives in. It will make her feel heard, offer a sense of compromise. He considers. He is tempted for a moment. The whole energy would relax, things would slide back to their usual amicability. But she had frostbite last winter. Her fingers get cold fast. He leans into the deeper recesses of his father-love and again holds the line.
Another explosion ensues, and the announcement: “You never listen to me!”
Finally both get out the door, dad and girl, dressed for the minus 7 celsius, silent girl, dad with a nod to mum, “I know she can’t stand me right now, but I love her too much to let her freeze or risk getting sick. She’ll be OK. and I’m OK too – I’m OK being the ‘bad’ guy for her to stay warm. I love her.”
There it is – another form of love.
A key distinction between conditions, boundaries and non-negotiables being ‘extensions of love’ versus ‘unnecessary’ force is where they come from. If they are based on fearful projections, desire for power or senseless discipline, they are not love in action.
The discernment of where a ‘no’ originates from is one of the ongoing practices of parenthood.
Choosing love over and over again, and being willing to go all the way with the choice so that it stands regardless of the forms it takes, regardless of whether popularity and ease ensue, or not: that is the love our children need from us in order to grow well and in health.
photo credit: Gregory Colbert – Ashes and Snow
Stay Connected!
Keep in touch. Let’s journey together.
