Accordion Heart

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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.

Impressions of a Wildfire Summer

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One lightening storm one evening. No rain. July 17th.

A summer irrevocably changed with

a multitude of fires lit across the landscape of the Kootenays.

Some extinguished within hours or days

Others turning from smoulder to raging fires

And this valley here, goes from a peaceful easing into summer after a long Canadian winter and a lush green spring

To sudden activation and prolonged uncertainty upon a backdrop of endless days of hot sunshine hidden by smoke, and drying earth.

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What if?

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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.

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Stretching Out

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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.

Easter Saturday: suspended & heightened. The liminal space we find ourselves in during this pandemic.

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Easter Saturday. A day of waiting, of unknown. liminal, empty, uncertain. A day of dark, of facing death and loss. A day of grief, of resistance and perhaps gradual acceptance. A day of feeling all the losses, all the pain and sorrows, a day of not turning the other way, but simply and profoundly: being with. As hard and uncomfortable as that may be.

What is happening on this day is not visible to the eye. It is stirring beneath the surface, perhaps imperceptible to the point of nothing. But there is something happening, for even simply bearing the unknown is something. To not turn away even when we don’t know how to move forward is transformative.

To breath through whatever feelings may be coursing through our bodies, while not gasping for distraction or any kind of numbing, is piercing and is alot. We come out the other side changed and ready for Easter, for resurrection, for new life. But in order to truly come out the other side, it seems that Easter Saturday, this liminal, achy, lost, nothing-ness but alot-ness needs to happen and is part of the recipe for awakening, for spring.

As a teen I began contemplating how Easter Saturday might have felt to the friends of Jesus. They who truly didn’t know about Sunday being round the corner. Who were only feeling the loss and confusion. They who didn’t have the benefit of the future, of knowing that resurrection – as promised as it might have been – actually would come to pass. How would that day of emptiness, of coming to terms with the death of their most beloved friend and teacher have felt? Devastating we can imagine, as we all have had such moments, days, weeks and years, when that which was most dear to us, most important, was gone to our perceptions and knowledge. Gone. With no guarantee of return.

Today and these past weeks, as our whole human family faces and deals with the covid-19 pandemic, I feel we are in a long, drawn-out Easter Saturday. A time when life is suspended and heightened. When the Unknown looms larger than ever. Grief is at our finger tips and takes over in waves. Fear crawls just under the surface and explodes here and there. Hope sparks and swells, hope for a saner tomorrow. We are waiting, while our former lives are upended, up rooted in suspension.

An image that has come to me during these weeks is of autumn leaves tossed up in the air. The leaves are up there, swirling, suspended. They have not landed yet. What the collective result of this pandemic and our collective response to it will be, is not yet known. All is tossed in the air.

As my husband (and main companion in sense making around this unprecedented and historical moment) has pointed out: as we seek to understand what is really going on in the multi-layered, suspended and heightened moment we are now living, there are so many dimensions, agendas and forces at work, it can be near impossible to get a complete picture. What we can do, however, is to look back to say November of last year, and notice all the vectors already at play then. For what we do know of this moment, is that all is heightened, and each of these vectors, these agendas, is now on steroids.

All are seizing this moment is one way or another.

Those whose call it was to become a spiritual teacher or supportive coach, now have a window in which to step up with wisdom to share.

Those interested in confusing the population and disseminating false news, or simply shocking with the latest dramatic news, what a moment.

Those who have long felt our earth needs a pause, here finally a chance to reconsider our trajectory.

Those who are amongst the most decent of humans, ready to simply serve, are showing up with such fervour and courage, we can only bow in appreciation and cheer with the fullest of hearts.

Those whose deepest need was to stop, to pause, and rest, are finding an invitation to do so now.

Those who are keen on mandatory vaccination, are seeing this as their moment.

Those who have been working tirelessly for greater income equality, now their efforts are finding an opening.

Those who have been scheming for more authoritarian regime, this is their moment too.

Those who always knew that gardening was a quiet revolution, now is their time.

Those who see individual freedoms as nuisance, now have a moment to squash these.

Those who have longed for greater collaboration, it is happening.

Those who have always carried care for the whole at the centre of their beings, this too is their moment to act in a heightened way, even if just by staying home, but also in tireless research for treatment of this virus, in care for the sick, in providing essential services, in leading with integrity.

There are many many forces at work, all of their agendas, all of their vectors experiencing and making use of this heightened moment in the course of our human unfolding.

These forces — both those aiming for greater good, beauty and truth, as well as those aiming for the opposites — are on steroids at present. Heightened. Intensified.

And what the outcome will be when we consider all these vectors, all these individual and collective wills and actions, decisions and values — all these leaves thrown up in the air — is not yet decided. We don’t know what the outcome will be. We feel the intensity. We are feeling all the days of the Easter Journey — death, the in-between, and the resurrection — all at play simultaneously.

And perhaps most of all: we are feeling and experiencing the “in between” — the Easter Saturday part of the journey. We don’t know if Easter Sunday will happen. We don’t have the benefit of knowing the future and being reassured by it. We don’t have assurance. It could go either way. Collapse and constriction, or renewal into healing and care for the Whole. Or a mix of all of it.

Held in liminal space, with vectors flying in all directions, this is our moment to encourage the breeze to move those leaves in the direction of greatest goodness, truth and beauty.

This is our moment to encourage trajectories of kindness, forgiveness, sustainability, coherence building, sovereignty and dignity. This is our moment to nurture every strand of connection, insight and care.

This is the undecided, elongated moment wherein the tides could turn, as a whole, one way or the other.

And so, my dear beauty makers, goodness tenders and truth tellers, let us do our best to help the breezes blow in the direction of sanity for this humanity, this planet, and all that lives within and upon it. May resurrection happen. May we find our way to what we have been dreaming, hoping, praying and working for.

The ways to do this are as myriad as we are. For some it may be tending to their children with presence. For others it may be fervent dedicated prayer. For some, gardening. For others, thinking out of the box and helping create meta-systemic change. The paths are many. The potential of resurrection, of a next stage in our humanity to actually feel like Easter Sunday, like the most wondrous spring morning, is with us. May we show up for it.

With all my love,
m

Our World in Flux: Coronavirus and our Ability to Respond

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CORONAVIRUS – REFLECTIONS & SUGGESTIONS on how to take personal responsibility.

After tracking COVID-19 since early February and sifting through dozens of medical and scientific, as well as public health reports and docs and, of course as so many of you, reading plenty of media, and chatting with friends and neighbors, here some reflections and suggestions:

To start – so much of what is conveyed in the media, social and otherwise, falls into one or another version of fear activation — this could be a flight reaction (avoidant, detached, downplaying), a fight reaction (panic, hoard, fret), or freeze (don’t know what to do, feel stuck and powerless). This is understandable. And each person we encounter, whatever their reaction may be, deserves to be met with respect and care (including ourselves!).

At the same time, I’d like to suggest a response that seeks to come from an educated, compassionate, courageous, and proactive stance. For this we need to hold multiple perspectives and integrate multiple feelings. 

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To Let Come

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To Let Come

I am not a calendar with
Straight lines etched across my self
And tidy numbers telling me
Which day and month I am
And which page I should next be turning,
Which intentions I must be setting and what should be released

Instead I lay beside the winter coat
Of the hibernating bear
And borrow her slumber for a while

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Befriending the Dark – A Solstice Reflection

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What is it we fear so
This dark time of year?

We cover up the dark with glitter
Lights and noise and stuff and lists
Busy days, excess plastic and wrapping
Good stuff too — food and song and sweet gifts

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Evolving Traditions — Keeping the Spark Alive

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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!

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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 >>