Happiness

I know what happiness is. It is a feeling deep down inside that bubbles out when I look at a magpie perching on the topmost branch of a willow tree that is bent with the first snow of the year. It is a feeling of contentment when I sit in my house and watch flickering fire light and am grateful for all that I have. It is going to yoga class and being with myself. Happiness is driving home after rock climbing knowing that I have stretched physically and emotionally. Happiness is loving and being loved, in all of love's incarnations.

Some write that being happy is a conscious decision. I agree that we choose happiness but my experience is that I needed to clear a path in my life and my thoughts that would enable me to be happy. The readers of this blog have witnessed some of the barrier falling as I mused upon my fear of falling, my fear of not falling, my pre-occupation with trying and my thoughts. Over the past months, I have written far less than I have in years. Prior to this blog, I kept a journal, writing in it regularly for about seven years.

Through writing both in my journal and blog, I have cleared out my thoughts. There is still plenty of underbrush but the pathways to happiness are more clear than they have ever been. I suspect that I have written little over the past months - one or two entries here a month, one or two entries in my journal - because I was in the process of checking that new barriers would not emerge. I recall that one of my fears was that "the other shoe would drop".

The shoe has not dropped and I am confident that even if it does, I can navigate the way barefoot or with one shoe or new shoes. I am writing again because that is one of the things that makes me happy. This entry feels good.

Namaste,
Ginny

October

October is flying by. I left for Zermatt Switzerland on the third and am just now getting back into my routine at home. The month has been one in which I have received reminders in various forms to be in the moment and to stay focused on the present.

1) I was dreading the airline flights. My route was from Edmonton to Minneapolis to Amsterdam to Geneva and then Geneva to Montreal then Ottawa via rail then Halifax and back to Edmonton. I was carrying skis, boots, helmet, ski clothes and ordinary clothes for two weeks of travel. My fears were unfounded. My flights were on time and my skis and bag traveled safely and with no extra surcharges to all my destinations.

2) I arrived in Zermatt with a pounding headache and wondered why I had come. The answer revealed itself as soon as I was back on skis high above the clouds with a vista of mountains peaking beyond. I love to ski and I love being in the mountains. It's that simple.

3) I didn't want to leave Zermatt but I did. I was conscious of staying open to what the next phase of my trip would bring and it brought ordinary delights. I watched re-runs of the Gilmore Girls with one of my daughters. We walked in woods, where leaves fell gently from trees and autumn light created brilliant hues. We ate good food, some in restaurants with creative flair, some in hotels with years of tradition and some at her home.

4) I didn't want to leave my daughter but I did. When I arrived in my next city, I decided to treat myself with a manicure. The subtle colour that I chose has amused me for a week. The reason I was in Halifax was to celebrate two graduations with a group of family and near-family and I am grateful that I was able to be part of the celebration.

5) I had looked forward to sea kayaking since the trip was planned and my expectations were surpassed. As soon as I sat in the kayak, I relaxed even though the temperature hovered a few degrees above zero. I paddled without effort and enjoyed the sea swells and smells.

6) More good food...and then back to Edmonton and all that I love at home. Back to yoga, climbing and the start of the ski season.

7)An unexpected exit from the Edmonton Ski and Snowboard Show challenged me to stay present and to ask myself what is really true. The truth is that I stayed true to my principles and acted with integrity. What was, was and what is, is.

Namaste.
Ginny

Caught

I was caught, twice this week, leaving yoga class. There I was sweating among 20 or 30 other people and I left. I didn't leave the room. I left the moment and I was caught.

The first time that it happened I was moving from a front down savasana into the next pose. I do Bikram yoga, which is the same 26 poses every time, so I know the routine. Somehow (actually I know how) my mind stopped listening to the dialog and I found myself upright on my knees with my hands on the small of my back. It took another moment before I realized that I was one pose too early. I chuckled quietly to myself and moved into the correct sequence but the instructor and I exchanged glances as we both knew that my automatic pilot had shifted in gear and then gave me away.

Today in class I was very present at the outset. I was coughing and assessing how my body felt as a result of a mild cold. I could feel the tightness in my shoulders as a result of rock climbing two days in a row. I could feel my hamstrings and glutes stretch as we warmed up. We then shifted from the standing series to the floor series. The instructor varied slightly from the dialogue and commented that the floor series presents new challenges, that since we take savasana between each pose, we have more opportunities for our minds to shift into gear. I listened, agreed, and decided that wouldn't happen to me.

Ha!...I was midway through the floor series, laying in savasana and heard the instructor say "Ginny, are you sleeping?" I nodded, realizing that I had momentarily closed my eyes. Then I heard him say "Cathy really doesn't like you that much" and I realized that I was laying face turned in the wrong direction, nose to another's nose, removing any privacy from the person on the mat next to me. I laughed out loud as I become conscious just how far away I had slipped.

Several things have become clear to me as a result of practicing yoga this week. Staying in the moment continues to be a challenge and, ironically, I am catching myself leaving when I believe I am most present. Staying present in yoga class is not to be taken for granted. Chuckling and laughing when caught is a new reaction for me. In the past when I received feedback to do something differently I would strain and try too hard. I became heavy. Maybe I am still not present as much as I believe I am but I am grateful for this new lighthearted response. Rather than feeling caught, I feel a light shining the way.

Expectations vs. intentions

The last time that I went rock climbing, I climbed really well. I was telling a group of friends just that and one asked "What does climbing well mean?"

Good question. It's not like there are time trials or judges. Even route grades are controversial. What is easy for one person is not so easy for another, whether it is a 5.7 or a 5.11b. When I say I climbed well, I mean that I broke through either a physical or mental limit. It means that I have climbed with my mind quiet and my body active. On that particular night, I climbed a route, that none of my friends have done, top to bottom without stopping. It was the fourth time that I tried the route. I had the benefit of knowing the pattern of movement from my past attempts. There was one moment when I almost stopped but I continued.

I then tried another route that I have climbed many times. Only once have I climbed it without a stop. There are three moves that I find mentally challenging. Physically I can do them all. My self-talk is what inhibits me. I look at the hold out to the right and know that I have to move my foot up and out parallel to my hip. Once I do that, the only parts of me that are close to the wall are my hands, gripping holds, and my feet, placed on hold. When I climb I like to be close to the wall and this position plays on all my fears.

As I made the first move, I was pleased with myself. I was even happier when I made the second difficult move, and at that point, I lost focus and listened to my talk and didn't succeed in making the third move. It's like in yoga when I try to balance just on one foot in toe stand. The instant I realize that I am doing it, I fall out. I am afraid not to fall because that would mean that I would have to stay in toe stand even longer. The expectation is what causes me to fall.

Expectations are inherently a balancing act. If my expectations are too low, I don't reach high enough. If they are too high, I get frustrated. The answer: set intentions not expectations. For me, setting intentions creates challenge but allows me freedom to let my body move and my mind observe. Expectations are more rooted in outcomes, in the future. An intention is set in the present. An expectation is rooted in the past and future. When I climb hold by hold, rather than focusing on the end, I climb more confidently and smoothly. Moment by moment, hold by hold with quiet intent.

Winnie the Pooh as glue

In the past two weeks, I have read several books. At first they seemed disparate. I read "Last Child in the Woods" by Richard Louv which reinforced my belief that nature is a source of healing, spirituality and beauty, and that without contact with nature, our souls are thinner. I read "Comfortable with Uncertainty" by Pema Chodron. I resonated with many of the concepts but wondered how to reconcile the notion of "groundlessness" with the feeling that being "grounded", being "centered" contribute to me being a more true me. I also took some to time to begin to understand Tonglen. The idea of breathing in whatever seems bad initially felt counter-intuitive, though the idea of breathing out and passing on good made sense from the outset. I read "Shadow Catcher" which contains some of the most poetic prose I have ever read and a number of themes, varying from early photography as an art form and truth-teller, to the treatment of Native Americans, to trains as metaphors, to children whose fathers disappear. I also re-read the "Tao of Pooh" by Benjamin Huff.

Language is one of the tools through which we communicate and I realized that "groundlessness" and "being grounded" express the same concept, but with slight difference in nuance. Groundlessness means not being rooted, allowing one's self to be open to the moment, allowing one's self to feel all that is present. When I do that, I am me and more. I am me and I am connected to all that is. When I am grounded, I mean that I am feeling open to my feelings but the connection to all that is, is more limited almost as if the connection extends only as far as my roots.

Breathing in the pain and bad feelings and the breathing out the good has helped me deal with a number of stressful situations over the past couple of weeks. I found that as I practice Tonglen, I observe my own thoughts and feelings more closely and feel a tighter link with others. For example, yesterday, my car was rear-ended as I drove down a freeway. I immediately got out of my car and checked that the driver of the car that hit me was okay. Later, I felt angry that she had not done the same for me. Later still, I realized that I could relate to how she was feeling, that she wanted to believe that she was not at fault, that this inconvenience could be pushed away by denial. In the past, I would have told everyone I saw that day that I had been in a car accident. I would have fondled the story (and perhaps I am now) but I do know that I haven't focused on the incident the way I would have in the past.

"The Shadow Catcher" is a novel which intertwines history, fiction, and personal memoir. It's value to me at this time is to illustrate that the lines between the three types of oeuvres are illusions, and made stronger or weaker by recounting or forgetting. Interpretation of any story is individual as well. Perhaps a scholar could determine if A.A. Milne had read Lao-tse or been exposed to eastern philosophy, but I doubt his intent in writing "Winnie the Pooh" was to create a parable illuminating Taoist ideas. Even if A. A. Milne did have such an intent, it wouldn't matter. Rabbit's calculations and Owl's pontifications would still just fall on Pooh's ears. Winnie the Pooh is a simple bear who illustrates a way of learning from whatever happens in everyday life. He is pretty much okay with whatever happens. He does without doing . And despite my protestations to the contrary, it is no coincidence that Winnie the Pooh is a childlike bear who lives in the woods and is very comfortable with uncertainty. Winnie the Pooh is the glue in my reading.

Dragonfly

I went outside a few minutes ago to make sure the front gate was closed and there was an amazing dragonfly holding tightly to my doorknob. It had a wingspan of about 2 1/2 inches and its wings were like bronze lace. I felt like I was in the presence of a tiny ancient warrior. He's still there now, guarding my door.

Left, right, right

I was at the rock climbing gym one Sunday afternoon and none of my friends were available to belay me, so I bouldered (which is climbing without a harness and rope but only to a certain height). Some rock climbers prefer bouldering. Others use it to train endurance by doing horizontal circuits around the gym. Still others boulder to work out certain "problems" which are series of moves determined by the placement of particular feet and hand holds.

I bouldered a circuit for a while but I could only endure so much for so long and I turned to the problems. The ones at the gym where I climb are graded in increasing difficulty from 1-24. Usually I can complete problems 1-8 without much difficulty and I have never completed a problem higher than 12. This is still true. That Sunday, I completed 1-8 with no problem. I started 9 but it is in the cave with the moves set from the side to the ceiling. I get stuck on a ceiling move. Whether I lack the core strength or technique or willingness to commit, I don't know, but I get stuck at the same place every time. I was able to complete problems 10-11 with coaching from others and I am now working on 12. I can do each individual move but cannot string them together to flow from start to finish. I would like to break past this level of climbing and progress, so I decided to specifically work on moves that I find either mentally or physically challenging.

One of the moves that I find difficult is to be in a position with my feet high on the wall, knees fully bent and hands on a single hold, somewhat like a backstroke swimmer at the start of a race, and then dynamically reach up high with one hand to the next hold. It's like being in a squat and reaching up to a basketball hoop. I decided to practice this un-coiling and catching the hold until I had done it ten times in a row.

First try - I positioned my hands on the start hold, brought my right foot up and then my left foot and reached with my right hand. Miss. Second try, I did the same thing and succeeded in catching the hold. My brain and body had used the information from the first try to gauge how much unfurling was required. Third try, I did it again. My neurological circuits were firing and the move was transitioning into body memory.

I decided to experiment and make a subtle change in the movement. Experiment - I positioned my hands on the start hold, brought my left foot up and then my right foot and reached with my right hand. Miss. Second try in the experiment, I did the same thing and missed. Third try, I missed again. Fourth try, I missed again. Clearly, something was amiss.

The pattern of movement - left, right, right - is not the pattern I am accustomed to in ordinary life. I walk, left, right, left right. I swim, feet kicking left, right, left right and my arms arc left, right, left right. To move two limbs on one side of my body in succession feels wrong. This is why it is good for me. I am breaking through old patterns and creating new neurological pathways. Not only will this help me climb better but research shows this learning will help me as I age. Learning dance moves or yoga poses, I encounter the same thing. New ways of moving create new ways of being.

And so, if you notice yourself moving in the same pattern, time and time again, alter the pattern slightly and notice what happens next. You may feel a frisson of fear as you do something new, but it's all part of the fun.

Seeing things

I was walking my dog this afternoon and, about twenty minutes into the walk, I noticed my thoughts. I was thinking about skiing. Now, as much as I like to think about skiing, thinking about it in July in the northern hemisphere is clearly an example of not being in the present moment.

So, I shifted from visualizing future enjoyment into the "now". Immediately I began to see things differently. I was walking past a grove of birch trees. I looked at a tree and noticed the subtle gradations of pale gray and green bark . Ants were channeling up and down the trunk. The next tree was also a birch but I was struck by its stark white and black. Two trees of the same species next to one another, much the same when viewed quickly, but with dramatic contrast when viewed with intent.

The life lessons are apparent and almost cliched. Be in the present moment. Pay attention to each individual. Do these things and life will reveal itself differently.

Namaste,
Ginny

Plus ca change

I've been going to yoga a lot lately, and I feel changes happening in my body. The progress I began to feel last year in loosening my tight hamstrings continues. My hips continue to open, and my lower back feels more aligned. I attribute the changes not just to the physical exercise but to how I am feeling emotionally. I am letting go, and so my body follows (or perhaps, it's the other way round, my body is letting go and I am following).

My left leg in particular is loosening and tightening at the same time. For the first time in many of the poses, I am holding it locked and strong. It is a new feeling. These changes are not dramatic and they are not driven by external circumstances. I am not injured. I have not gained or lost weight. I am simply doing yoga, and by doing yoga I am changing.

I am finding that my ego is challenged by some of these changes. The shift from slightly bent knee to straight knee, from hip and quadricep almost parallel to the floor to parallel is having consequences on my ability to hold triangle pose. This has been a favorite pose, similar to warrior pose, and one that I have moved into easily since beginning yoga. Now, I am falling out of it, unable to stay balanced. Sometimes, my feet start to slip and I wonder if I have the inner thigh strength and the inner mental strength to keep holding the pose. Sometimes, I hold the pose. More often than I would like to admit, I put my hands down on the ground for respite. It is humbling to no longer be able to stay in a pose for the full sixty seconds. I imagine that the instructors think that I am wussing out for, in the past, I have always been able to hold the pose.

I realized that I was competent in the pose previously. Now I am on my way to a new strength and flexibility. To achieve this, I will fall out of poses. I will find new edges and limits. Internally generated change, simply to grow, seems difficult. I am asking myself to be resilient, to be comfortable with discomfort, to create new neurological pathways.

Many of my big life changes have had an external stimulus such as change of job or change in marital status. I am realizing that to make a big life change or to simply become unstuck requires a different strength when the motivation is internal. The change is incremental and almost unobservable until the accumulation results in a action that others perceive as change. Change is constant. Change is real. Plus ca change, plus ca change.

Trust

I started rock climbing because I wanted to trust people more. As a neophyte, I believed that the relationship between climber and belayer had to be one of trust. It is. What I have learned about trust from rock climbing , though, is more fundamental. You have to trust in yourself before you can trust in others.

Without trust in yourself, there is no trust. Without trust in yourself, you have abdicated responsibility. This is especially true in rock climbing. The climber does rely on the belayer to catch falls and identify risks but the first onus is on the climber for the climber's safety. Trusting oneself is more difficult than it sounds. Self-trust relates to confidence and body-mind awareness. Trust is being in the moment, listening to the stillness, and acting accordingly. Because most of us go in and out of the moment, most of us go in and out of trusting ourselves.

And if we can't trust ourselves, every moment of every day, how can we trust others? Especially, when trust is one of the foundation building blocks of any meaningful relationship? The answer that I am pursuing is to act as if trust is present. Assume trust.

Trust will not be there every moment in my relationships with my family and my friends but if I act as if it is, it will be more and more often. This is true in the big important things in life, and it is true in the small things. I continue to explore my ability to trust myself on a daily basis, as I rock climb, as I navigate a hilly curve on my mountain bike, as I lift my heel in toe-stand in yoga, as I am open and honest with friends, as I communicate with family. Trust grows.

Fairy Tales

As I child, I read and I read and I read. Interestingly, I don't remember learning to read though I do recall the laminated paper tools we used for phonetics. I also recall that in grade one, we were divided into two groups and I turned whenever the other group read Jimmy's name out loud. (Jimmy being the main boy character in our primer, and sounding a lot like Ginny when pronounced by a six year old). I do know that I read all the books in the children’s section of our town library by the time I was 12. I spent so much time with books that I could identify the publisher by the smell of the ink and texture of the paper.

In grades six and seven, I became engrossed in Andrew Lang's coloured Fairy Books. There are twelve books in the collection, published between 1889 and 1910. The Blue Fairy Book was the first and then the Red. The most widely known fairy tales were selected in the early books with lesser known stories in the later ones. I read them all - Blue, Red, Green, Yellow, Pink, Gray, Violet, Crimson, Brown, Orange, Olive, and Lilac. Last night I read an essay by Barbara Sjoholm about "The Snow Queen" included in the Pink Fairy Book. Serendipitously, today I found my forty-year old, yellowed copy of the Blue Fairy Book.

As I grew older, I continued to read fairy tales and myth. I thought the value was in escapism not education. I began to realize the powerful influence that fairy tales have had on my values and decisions when I first read Women Who Run With Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes. Estes is a Jungian psychologist who re-tells familiar tales and stories from around the world and then illustrates their import on the female psyche. I read her description of Hans Christian Anderson's "Red Shoes" and thought of Princess Diana. Brittney Spears also wears red shoes which dance out of control. "The Snow Queen", which is not included in Women Who Run with Wolves reflects the shattered shards of adolescence and dysfunctional families.

Classic fairy tales are no longer being read by children. Classic fairy tales are no longer being read to children by adults. Our society is lacking as a result. The tales are rooted in our history and provide universal lessons of risk, caution, and caring. Do cartoons, anamie, Air Guitar and Wii provide the same richness, just in a new cultural context? Maybe so, but certainly, the adult re-reading of old favorites is lost and symbols of the past, like the Little Match Girl and Red Shoes, are fading away. Adults need doses of fairy tales even more than children. Our prescription seems to be cardboard reality television and box office movies. Stories and magic in music, even the most popular, linger on and give me hope. Keep re-telling the old stories.

Blind spots

Lately, I have been very conscious of my blind spot when I am driving my car. I make an effort to shoulder check and look at the small but very dangerous spot when the car close on the right is not visible. Too often, I see a car when I did not sense one.

Lately, I have been wondering why certain people get to me, triggering thoughts or behaviour that do not reflect the me that I want to be. Yesterday in yoga class one of those people practiced next to me. I heard a noisy thunk as she hurled her mat onto the floor. I looked up to see who it was. I saw her and felt dismay. I resolved to focus on my practice, to get into the poses, hold them and move on. As I did so, I realized that what triggers me about her isn't so much her drama but her frustration with not getting the poses right or perfect. It seemed as if she wanted someone to notice her and compliment her - good work, good effort, good girl. I know that feeling and gradually over time the need for external recognition is diminishing in me. It's still there, though, and pops up when I least expect it.

Recognizing my blind spot in yoga class spawned other ah-ha's. There was a woman who spoke to me in the climbing gym about watching her climber while she belayed him on lead that triggered anger in me. I held back my snarky retort but it troubled me so much that I moved to a different part of the gym but did not enjoy the rest of my session. I realized that it was because she saw me as a middle-aged beginner climber, not an experienced intermediate.

With that realization came others... the guy who told me that some of my short radius turns were good; others not so. I became VERY passive aggressive (knowing short radius turns are an area of improvement for me), and challenged him to tell me specifically which ones were good and which ones weren't and what I did differently on each. It was a trigger-fest on skis. His lack of self confidence (which I would have seen were it not one of my blind spots) triggered my lack of confidence. I fired back. He volleyed in return. Good thing we weren't in cars, but at least in cars, we know to check our blind spots.

This is the lesson that I am taking away - check my blind spots. When I feel unease, I become less present and worry that I am not good enough. Instead, I need to open myself to the situation and ask myself what it is going on. The irony is that by worrying about not being good enough, that's what happens. Maybe I can tape a note on my nose that sticks up in front of my eyes. Check your blind spots! No - that would make me blind to other things...the answer is (with apologies to the Grateful Dead) to "keep on truckin".

Over and over

One of the colloquial, somewhat humorous, definitions of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. I disagree. It is almost impossible to do the same thing over and over again in exactly the same way. The key is "exactly the same way". Last night I was at the rock climbing gym and was stuck getting past an overhang. I was on top rope so I could attempt the challenge in several different ways. On my first try, I positioned my feet, one under the overhang, the other around the corner and reached up with my left hand to a higher hold. I successfully grabbed the hold. Now I needed to get my right hand higher and then pull my body weight upwards, past the precipice.

I moved my right foot to a hold about three inches higher, closer in to the wall, beneath the overhang. My chest and hips were parallel to the overhang and, relying on core strength, I reached up and over on to the higher right hand hold. I grasped it but then my hold slipped and I swung left in the air over the corner.

I repositioned myself and attempted the same move the same way. I didn't even come close to reaching the hold. A different outcome doing something the "same way". My friend who was belaying me, suggested moving into a backstep which meant bringing both my feet onto the corner wall, pulling my right side in, and then reaching up with my right hand. I tried and felt unbalanced. A "new way" and the same outcome: I wasn't yet past the overhang.

I reverted back to my original position which was comfortable and reached up for a fourth time. My hand did not reach the hold and again I swung in the air on top rope. I recall saying to myself "you can't quit, you can do this" and I reached up with my right hand in the same way as I had in my first, second, and fourth attempts. This time my hand gripped the hold and I pulled myself up and over, wondering why it had taken me so many attempts when the successful reach was so easy.

The difference between the successful reach and the unsuccessful reach? To people watching, there was no difference. A snapshot would have shown me in the same starting position time and time again. But, the snapshot would have been misleading. There were several differences. At the outset, I was not certain of my technique and not certain that I would pull myself up. A bit of experimentation convinced me that my technique and skill would allow me to pull up. The experimentation also gave me insight into the millimeters of difference in where I positioned my hands on the holds, and in the milliseconds of timing in reaching, pulling and moving my hands and feet up. So, millimeters and milliseconds made a difference. The most important factor, though, was my intent. There was no doubt in my mind when I made the final pull-up. I was going to do it that time. My intention was clear and my body and mind worked together to make it happen.

So, is it insane to do the same thing over and over and expect a different outcome? No. This is how athletes train. They do the same thing over and over, making minor adjustments (and sometimes major changes), until the movements are patterned and reliable. Still, almost every 500 meter run, every triple Axel, every ball pitched, and basket sunk has some minor variation.
The "insanity" is to think that it is possible to do the same thing the same way over and over. The truism isn't true . That said, I do agree that there are times when small change is not enough to produce different outcomes and when boldness is required, but that is fodder for a different day and a different climb.

Namaste

A new language

There's lots of talk about listening to our bodies. I hear the talk on television about workout intensity...I hear the talk in yoga class... I hear the talk among life coaches. I have been trying to listen to my body for a while but just this week I realized how amazing it is to really hear what my body is saying. It's as if I have been listening in one language and my body has been communicating in another, and this week, finally, I have begun to learn the language of my body.

In the past, I have listened to overt signals from my body. My toes hurt. My calves are cramping. I feel blocked in my stomach. These were real signals and my body communicated effectively, like a sailor waving bold semaphore flags. The signals were hard to miss. Sometimes they were easy to interpret (semaphore isn't that complicated) but other times I was off track.

What I have learned to hear over the past weeks is a deep knowing. My body is using more subtle semiotics. For example, I woke one morning feeling normal (which for me includes a tinge of anxiety). I went about my morning tasks and as I was walking from the kitchen to the dining room, I felt a deep sense of peace. I distinctly noticed it and observed it and briefly wondered why. Shortly after, a family member phoned with good news.

On Friday, I struggled through yoga class. I had to sit out poses. I turned red. Tears eked out of my eyes. I realized that there was a message in the signals my body was sending me but I focused so much on just getting through class that I did not try to understand what the signals were. Today I learned that, at the exact time, I was in yoga class, the final piece of settling my mother's estate fell into place.

That our bodies hold wisdom, that our bodies communicate physical pain, that our bodies hold memories of past injury, is becoming more accepted. My experience bears this out. As I have learned to listen to my body, through therapy and through activity, I have released much of my past. Perhaps, the deep knowing language is available to me now only because I have unclogged the transmission highways over the past nine years. This language of knowing is new to me It is nice to imagine that this knowing is a reward for hard work. I am like a first grader reading a primer, sounding out words. There is inherent joy. Drawing conclusions about why I have learned a new way of reading my body now is premature and unnecessary. I am just grateful for being and communicating.

Musings on feet and music

I have lots of things to blurt out today. First, I went to yoga which in and of itself isn't unusual. Today, however, my feet started cramping even before class began. A horizontal strip across the bridge of my foot, just underneath my toes clenched and unclenched. As it released, the pain moved to my inner arch. The cramps were more pronounced on my right side. I asked myself if the cramps were due to dehydration. The answer was no, so I focused on relaxing and forgot about the cramps until a few poses into class.

Awkward pose - well named with three parts. During the first part, you squat. That went fine for me today. During the second part, you stand on your tiptoes as high as possible and then bend knees and hips to move down as if sitting. My toes would not let me stand on them. I tried to move forward onto the tips. One calf cramped; then the other; then all the toes. I kept moving into my toes but kept coming out of the pose. The third part in which you rise slightly on your toes with your knees together and then lower down was cramp-free.

My intention in yoga class yesterday was to "let go". Let go of the tension inside of me. Let go of past hurts. Let go of all the things that are tight and impeding me. Surrender to what is. I felt progress yesterday so my intention today was the same. Suddenly, in class today, I realized why I was cramping. My mind was saying "let go", but my body (specifically my toes, arches, and calves) were tightening, clinging to the tension. Usually, it is the other way round, with my brain leading, but the message was clear to me. I am letting go but it is gradual. Let it be. My body knows the way.

Music inspires me and I look forward to the August Folk Fest with anticipation. There is a sense of community energy that is hard to find during the rest of the year. The line-up for this year's folk fest was announced today and I just spent hours listening to music by artists I haven't heard and exploring the websites of those I know. I discovered that a favorite musician who is also a producer worked with one of my favorite bands on their new album which is to be released next month. The collaboration is a mix of traditional and edginess. It'll be cool and as I listened to the digital tracks, I relaxed, feet and all.

Gripping the ground

I'm not a naturally relaxed person (surprise, surprise!) so over the past few years, I 've become very conscious of checking with my body to see where I sense tension. I am feeling it in my toes and feet, so much so, that I just wish they could they could relax. I am gripping the ground, toes curled in, achilles tendon and heels slightly lifted, weight on the balls of my feet.

The good news is that I am aware. The bad news is that there is nothing I can do. Yoga and relaxation tapes just intensify the feeling. Whatever is causing me to grip and ground with the edges of my toes is in me and will come out with allowing, not trying. I was curious as to what could be causing this new/old feeling so I investigated some reflexology websites. I'm not convinced that the feelings that I have are related to the energy meridians associated with my vital organs. Let me re-phrase that...I'm not convinced that I understand how what I am feeling and what is going on in my life is related to the energy meridians associated with these particular vital organs.

Maybe I am gripping to stay where I am, trying to resist change. Maybe I recognize that I am falling forward into change and haven't fully allowed it. Maybe I am trying to stay grounded as change occurs. My toes are saying " stay, stay" while the rest of me wants to get up and go. Is that true? It seems so. All three wordings imply the same thing. Change is occuring and I want to stay rooted. It is time for another gardening metaphor. A rootbound plant doesn't thrive. Transplanting to a better location or bigger pot causes temporary shock but luxuriant growth follows. I need to let go of these roots so even stronger ones can grow. This is why the feeling is new/old. I have been through it before. In the past, I was uprooted through storms of change. This time, the impetus for growth is within me. My toes are still curled, but I think I'm on to something, and it's not just the ground.

Namaste,
Ginny

Being a change

"Be the change you want to see in the world" - Mahatma Gandhi

I can change the world
With my own two hands
Make a better place
With my own two hands
Make a kinder place
With my own two hands
With my own
With my own two hands

I can make peace on earth
With my own two hands
I can reach out to you
I can clean up the earth
With my own two hands

I'm gonna make it a brighter place
I'm gonna make it a safer place
I"m gonna help the human race
With my own two hands
With my own
With my own two hands

With my own two hands
I can comfort you
With my own two hands
But you got to use
Use your own two hands
Use your own
Use your own two hands - Ben Harper

"Be the change that you want to see in the world." I see this quote from Mahatma Gandhi on a daily basis. Friends sign their e-mails with it; the quote is on the wall at the yoga studio where I practice. I also listen to this song by Ben Harper on a regular basis. Recently, I realized that these are not aspirations. They are happening. I am making a change in the world and I am doing it with my own two hands. This is true, not just for me, but for many of us.

It is exciting to realize that change is happening. The scale might not be grand but the impact may be. What helped me realize that I am making a difference? Small ordinary conversations - some while walking the dog, others while weeding the front garden, still others waiting in a line of some sort. For example, yesterday as I was walking around the block, one of my neighbors was tilling up soil. I complimented him on his yard, saying that there can never be too many flowers in the world. He looked at me and asked "Which house is yours? I told him and he said "Ah, yours is the one with the Livingstone daisies in the front. I saw them last year and have about 100 seedlings growing now."

It's a small thing but knowing that planting a flower gave such enjoyment to another that they are doing the same makes me feel humble and happy. Gardening is powerful magic, healing the people who plant and till and weed, and feeding the souls of those who observe with beauty. Our actions are like gardening. Each smile is a seed for another, each opening of a lane in traffic to another car is an opening of our hearts, each kind act roots us more in today and provides the strength for tomorrow. So... I may not know which change I am being on any given day, but to know that I make a difference is inspiration to keep learning and being. And so may it be for others.

Still sorting

I am still sorting things out. Some things seem destined not to occur, or at least not now, but even those things are not sorted out. To put things into mundane perspective, one of the things I am considering is moving to a new home. I called a real estate agent ten days ago to look at two homes on the market. We set a tentative date and time of 1:00 Wednesday afternoon. At noon, on that Wednesday, I hadn't heard from the agent so I called her. Lots of apologies and excuses and a new date and time was set - Tuesday May 13. Yesterday came and went and no call from the real estate agent.

So, does this mean that I am not meant to move? Probably not, although a part of me wants to say so. Does this mean that I am not meant to use this real estate agent? Yes. She's fired and doesn't even know it. Does this mean that I am not meant to buy either one of those houses? Maybe yes, maybe no. Sometimes I think I try to read entrails where there are none.

I am still sorting out work. I conscientiously pointed out that a revised proposal was two weeks overdue. Executives sprang into action...or more precisely, meetings are being held and words being written down. Tomorrow I am meeting with a different company to discuss a proposal that I have put forward. The challenge for me in the midst of these uncertain opportunities is to stay true to what I believe. I believe in not anticipating the outcomes (waaaay easier to write than to do) and I believe in listening not to logic but to my intuition when the time is right to make a decision.

I have experience in listening to my intuition and having the outcomes be fortuitous. I have experience in not listening to my intuition, and being aware that I was not listening, and having the outcomes be less positive. I know to listen to my intuition. It's just that sometimes it is a very quiet voice and I need to quiet many other thoughts to get to that inner sage.

The other thoughts surround my family. My mother's estate is being settled after a year in probate and my bank doesn't know how to set up the account. The cynic in me is really surprised. The real issue is that, by dealing with her money, I am thinking again about the past. It doesn't matter. Only the present does. I need to be present. Not in the past, not in the future. Now.

So I know what to do. Stay present. Be in the moment. Listen to myself. The hard part is the doing but at least I know.

Namaste,
Ginny

Amateur Love

The stories of Olympic athletes have inspired me since I was a child. I have been motivated by other sporting events but, like many people, the Olympics have a special place in my heart. Part of the inspiration is the very notion the Olympics - the best amateur athletes from around the world come together in a series of contests to foster "sound mind in a sound body" and to promote friendship among nations.

Because of their very nature - the gathering of people from across the world and the consequent attention globally - the Olympics encapsulate the times in which they are held. I like to think that the Olympics are non-political but issues are been present since the modern international event was conceived in 1896. Race issues were prevalent early on. Jim Thorpe and Jesse Owen are almost always identified by race.

War prevented the games from occuring in 1916, 1940, and 1944 but war has been waged in the world during many other Olympic years. Eleven Israeli athletes were killed by Palestinian terrorists in 1972 in Munich. To protest the 1979 Soviet invasion of Afghanistan more than 60 countries, led by the United States, withdrew from the 1980 Summer Games in Moscow. The Soviet Union withdrew from the 1984 Summer Games in Los Angeles. War is going on today in many parts of the world but the Bejing Olympics are still scheduled.

Boycotts have also occured for political reasons. The 1956 Olympics were boycotted by Netherlands, Spain, and Switzerland because of the repression of the Hungarian Uprising by the Soviet Union. In a protest against a New Zealand rugby tour of South Africa about 30 African nations boycotted the 1976 Summer Games in Montreal, To counter the U.S. boycott in 1980, the Soviet Union withdrew from the Los Angeles Olympics in 1984.

From a small beginning of less than 250 athletes (which was still one of the largest sporting events ever held) to over 11,000 athletes and 16,000 broadcasters and journalists (and more countries participating than in the United Nations), the Olympics has opened itself to the world.

I want to believe in the indomitable spirit of the athletes and the demonstration of grace that athletes, engaging in what they love, convey. I want to believe the Olympics are non-political and at an individual level, I think most athletes do represent the Olympic spirit. I am troubled by this year's torch relay. Protests have plagued the torch run, and I am sad that the Chinese have chosen to carry the torch to the summit of Everest.

To make the climb possible, China relied on technology, and Nepal to close key routes to other climbers. The torch was carried up the southern side of Everest from Nepal to the summit while the descent was down the north face through Tibet. The fact that most of the climbers representing China are Tibetan is small solace. China and the IOC were aware of the political impact and, indeed, shrouded the timing of the summit with secrecy and did not incorporate the climb into the on-going route of the torch. I understand the imagery -the torch, representing the peak of amateur athleticism, sparking the sky above the earth's pinnacle. The two should not have been twinned. The gesture is not grand. The gesture is that of a bully.

My hope is that all the individuals involved in this year's Olympics participate ,and participate as "amateurs", whether they are athletes, officials, volunteers, journalists, broadcasters, or spectators. Love is global and grand.

Namaste,
Ginny

Sorting things out

Sometimes when my mind becomes over-active, I muddle things into a ball. I think "If I do this, I can't do that, but I want to do that, but if I do that, then this will become more difficult. And what about this? And what about that?" And so on and so on, until I am a twisted mess. I was heading down this path yesterday, conscious that I was doing so, but still mixing and twisting things that don't belong together, and I decided to write.

This was a good idea. I wrote, stream of consciousness, and discovered clarity. I wrote: "I've got lots of mixed feelings going on...I tend to lump all the stuff into a ball and instead of looking at the opportunities ( which is really what I have in front of me), I get frozen worrying about the future if I pick this one or that one. For now, all I can do is pursue the opportunities. Today there are no decisions. I just need to keep reminding myself of that. Time will untangle this mixed-up ball of feelings. I know that."

Things are untangling. I ran into someone at yoga who I wished to see. A tentative appointment to look at a new home has been postponed but that's okay. I am not ready today but I will be. Other tasks seem less daunting. I have given myself permission "not to know", not to know with certainty where I will be living next fall, what the major source of my income will be, what activities I will be involved in. The irony is that, even if I think I know, I don't.

The only thing I know for certain is that I am happier, more "me" when I sit with myself and listen to my intuition. In addition, I am going to implement some life coaching advice and create a vision board of things that resonate with me. I know that on the board will be a letter I wrote to myself today that will say "open in January" as a reminder to me, that when I get busy, to stop, go to yoga, just be and breathe.

Breath

I learned to breathe when I was over 40 years old. I really did. Prior to that I was inhaling and exhaling but I was not consicous of breath, of its life force. I would breathe open-mouthed with shallow inhalations, never deep into my belly. From time to time, I would try to breathe with my mouth shut but I felt like I was suffocating, like I couldn't breathe. I attributed my inability to breathe through my nose to my nose. I thought I was naturally congested and had a vague recollection of an allergist when I was a child, suggesting so. And so, I believed.

I remember the first time my belly expanded with breath. I was in yoga class. I was in savasana, not a pose in which instructors generally comment or adjust, but that day, Melissa saw the contraction and expansion and drew my attention to it. I am grateful. I can fall into old patterns of stress-breathing but the knowledge of how a deep breath feels is with me and I know its calming effect.

Today, Melissa taught her last class at our yoga studio, at least for a while. She is moving to another city and it is a passage for her and the yogis she has influenced. The class was fun, with experienced practioners alternating between focus and pulling fun on Melissa. We all laughed together - all fifty of us, some taking her yoga class for the first time, others for the nth time.

Namaste, Melissa, and thank you for accidentally stepping on my loose toenail today when we hugged. Just another way in which you help me shed layers of myself....

Success

Nearly a year ago in preparation for a workshop, I was asked to write several stream-of-consciousness paragraphs about a topic I found compelling. I wrote about success. When I re-read what I wrote, I see seeds of learning that have since germinated. Growth is occuring.

Here is what I wrote last July:

"Society values success. We all want to be successful, but do we know what it is? For many years, I thought I would be successful if I climbed the corporate ladder. I didn’t want to be President of a large company; Executive or Senior Vice-President would be fine. I now believe that if I had gotten that role, it would be at a large personal cost. I would probably be working too much, skipping meals and eating too much at night, and not enjoying life. Externally successful; internally anguished.

A Canadian Olympic swimmer who I worked with once confided that he hated swimming, that his father drove him to it, and that when his swimming career was over, he was happy for the first time. Is coming in fourth success?? Is success being thin? Is success living in a nice house or driving a nice car? Is success having successful children (whatever that means)?

Success sometimes seems to be black and white – either you are or you are not successful. Success seems externally driven, based on other’s perceptions. You seldom know how that person you perceive as successful perceives himself.

I believe that success is not black and white. There can be a single moment or outcome that is “success” but success is accompanied by other moments. I successfully completed an axel (but how many times did I fall in trying). I successfully sold my car (but what the heck does that mean except that I sold it). I succeeded in raising $2000 for charity (but was that success? What if my target was $20,000?)

When I was in a group therapy session with other women, I commented that I thought they should give medals for overcoming challenges like abuse, alcoholism, addiction. So the next Christmas, one of the group members gave each of us one of her synchronized skating medals. The group fell apart shortly after and I haven’t seen that woman since the day she gave me my medal. I hope that she now views herself as successful. That’s all that matters.

Success is individual and ephemeral. When an individual truly has an internal picture of success, success builds on success. Ideally, success is learning, success is achieving an outcome and then moving on to the next desired outcome and trying and getting it or not, and then trying again. The most successful people wear their medals on the inside. "

The seeds that have flourished are these:

• Externally successful; internally anguished. Here I am beginning to separate my achievements and my situation from me.
• There can be a single moment or outcome that is success but "success" is accompanied by other moments. My view is evolving on this....I am realizing that success IS the moment, not the moment before and not the moment after. Success is not an outcome. Success is being in the moment. This is an area of continuous attention for me. I am able to be in the moment, but I still have many moments when I am not present and I still have some moments where I am far far away.
• Success builds on success. Being in the moment does build on itself. I know this. Ease follows.
• Success is individual and ephemereal. How can it be otherwise?

I also wonder whether this is a case of the etymology of language influencing perception, expectations and action. The word from latin succedere - roots "sub" meaning "go under" and "cedere" go along. The word's early meaning is : to follow, to inherit, especially to inherit the monarchy. The association of success with money and status is rooted in the word's history. Success has indeed built on success. Eckhart Tolle imagined the earth without the word "work " in The Power of Now . I feel the same way about the word "try". I'm adding "success" to that list of words. As our society grows, so will our ability to express true meaning.

Spring's waves

For the past five years, the end of April has marked a transition for me. During winter, I go full tilt (maybe at windmills, maybe not) and then halt screechingly once the ski season and the university term end in late April. I was particularly busy this winter with teaching at the university, teaching skiing, consulting, writing, and driving to the mountains most weekends to train.

I expected this April to be different. I had a contract for a three year consulting project and was looking forward to the continuity and activity of the project once teaching was done. I worked many hours this winter, often over 60 hours per week, and the thought of a single project was appealing. This is not to be.

The project is on hold, with a new proposal forthcoming within a few weeks. I now have plenty of time to write, to go to yoga, to read, to rock climb and see friends, to walk my dog. I am grateful for this period. Just two days into the slower pace, and I feel more like myself. It feels good.
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For many years, my metaphor for life was climbing mountains. Strength, resilience, tenacity were all attributes I desired. My metaphor is changing and has been changing for some time. I had one dream several years ago that sustains me when I feel lost and afraid. I am in a small sailing dinghy and a large wave looms ready to crash down and crush. I turn to face the wave and my boat and I dive under the crest and come out to stillness. Face your fears and be still. Let the hard become easy.

In another dream, I picture the trail map of a ski mountain. There are white snowy paths lined with trees and rock. Coming down the trails, in reverse of salmon spawning, are humpback whales crowded together. The whales flow down much the way water flows in a river. A bringing together of nature's extremes - mountain and water, hard and soft. No resistence, just flow. Power and grace, a whale and a mountain singing together.
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So this is me, now. I am at home, facing the wave of spring change. It need not be hard. It will be easy.

Namaste,

Ginny

A week later...

Since I posted a week ago, lots has happened but nothing really. I drove to Jasper, and then from Jasper to Lake Louise and then from Lake Louise to Edmonton. During that week, I was in some of my favourite places but, with the exception of a few minutes during my drive along the Icefields parkway, I was not present in those places.

I have been in my mind way too much this past week. I was trying not to but that is what happened. I tried. I tried and I tried, and then when things weren't working out, I tried to fix them by thinking. As I did at Christmas, I felt tension arising from within me and rather than allowing myself to feel and observe, the tension triggered old coping mechanisms. Toward the end of the week, I recognized the old patterns. I felt particularly tense, squinty-eyed, and low one morning. I recognized that I needed to alter my energy and decided to do yoga. The only private (?) place was a public washroom so that's where I went. I felt much more at peace but within ten minutes, I was flooded with anxiety again as I received a well-intentioned comment and started thinking about it.

That said, I am not bringing out my figurative baseball bat to whack myself into my senses. I have moments where I think about what happened this week and tell myself stories, but then I notice my thoughts and feel better again. A friend of mine once said that she felt like she had remedial karma when she left one coporate behemoth and joined another only to find the same patterns repeating. I suspect I will see these old patterns emerge in my life many more times. The key is to see them and not fall into them.

Life gave me other lessons this week. They are not clear to me but I am gaining insight into my journey from anxiety into consciousness. I received kindness and empathy from people I don't know and that is a real gift. I also realized this morning that as much as I love skiing, I may have focused too much on it over the past weeks, leaving me out of balance. I knew I missed yoga. I knew I missed cooking good meals. I knew I missed the companionship of friends. I was so focused that my sight narrowed, leaving a breadth of opportunity unseen.

The tension that I felt over the past weeks is dissipating. My lower back no longer hurts. I still feel tense in pockets throughout my body but the clenching is relaxing and I am allowing spring to come (even though Edmonton is still covered in deep wet snow from a blizzard over the weekend and has had three days of record low temperatures).

P.S. When I was doing yoga in the washroom of a ski lodge, I really was in the moment, focusing on my breathing and asanas. When I left the washroom, though, I chuckled to think what someone else would have thought if they had walked in to see me prone stomach on the floor, ski boots on, lifting into cobra pose. Sometimes even thoughts have their moments.

Literary learnings

I've loved to read ever since I was a child. Even though books and stories have transported me to Narnia, to Winesburg Ohio, to the Alps, to New York City at the turn of the century, and many other places and eras, when I read I am usually present in who I am. I recall as a child, knowing a book's publisher by the smell of the ink and the texture of the paper. I've also known that books nourished my soul and nurtured me in ways that my own parents did not.

I have learned and continue to learn from books. Just as a tree's age can be estimated by counting the concentric circles on its trunk, my learning can be traced to beginnings in books read years ago to lessons from books I am still reading. When I read the following passage from Eckhart Tolle's "The Power of Now", I was reminded of Charles Dicken's "A Christmas Carol":

I was awakened by the chirping of a bird outside the window. I had never heard such a sound before. My eyes were still closed, and I saw the image of precious diamond. Yes, if a diamond could make a sound, this is what it would be like...I recognized the room yet I knew that I had never truly seen it before. Everything was fresh and pristine, as if it had just come into existence. I picked up things, a pencil, an empty bottle, marveling at the beauty and aliveness of it all.

The similarity of Eckhart Tolle's awakening to that of Scrooge is remarkable. Scrooge also sees his familiar surroundings with new eyes and marvels at the lightness of everyday beauty.

Yes! and the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own, the room was his own. Best and happiest of all, the Time before him was his own, to make amends in! "I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future!" Scrooge repeated, as he scrambled out of bed. "The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. Oh Jacob Marley! Heaven, and the Christmas Time be praised for this. I say it on my knees, old Jacob, on my knees!..."I don't know what to do!" cried Scrooge, laughing and crying in the same breath; and making a perfect Laocoon of himself with his stockings. "I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a schoolboy. I am as giddy as a drunken man. A merry Christmas to everybody! A happy New Year to all the world! Hallo here! Whoop! Hallo!"

One book is fiction, written in 1843; the other is non-fiction, written in 1999. I am sure that there are many other stories written before and after that illuminate the same point. Living in the present is the key to life.

I also find parallels from Tolle's book to those in Phillip Pullman's trilogy "His Dark Materials" ( which some argue is based on John Milton's "Paradise Lost"). Tolle describes how gaps in the stream of thought occurs rarely and accidentally for most people but in these moments, there is inner stillness and a subtle but intense joy. Pullman describes the subtle knife that opens a new world from an existing one. The different world is first found with guidance from a cat. Later the world is more deliberately approached for what lays beyond.

As a reader, I have been able to immerse myself in worlds not my own and learn about my own life situation through them. There have been times, though, when I have started to read a book and not been able. At the time, I did not realize the lessons inherent in choosing a book and then being unable to stay present through it. Now, I realize that many of those books contained lessons and analogies about emotional pain which I was not yet ready or willing to work through.
For example, I began to read "Angela's Ashes" by Frank McCourt when it was first published and kept stopping. Several years later, I read the book from start to finish. The difference is that I had done work on my own childhood shrapnel and was present in myself as I read without any over-identification with the main characters. The lesson was not implicit in the book; the lesson was related to me and my situation and the filters with which I read.

And so as I continue my journey as a reader, I strive to be present. However, each book I read, each author whose work I appreciate, has an effect on me. The works that resonate with me are personal. They are not generalizable. Our own individual experiences are why we are drawn to the books that we are, and why there are so many beautiful and meaningful stories in the world. We all have a set of stories that speak to us, and as we find them, we grow.

Pleasure and Joy

I've been thinking about the difference between pleasure and joy. This may or may not be a good thing. I was in the grocery store on Thursday and saw the "Power of Now" by Eckhart Tolle in the 40% off bin. With all the buzz about "A New Earth", I had been thinking (there's that word - thinking- again) about reading Tolle's work, but the rebel in me, slight as it is, didn't want to conform. When I saw the book in the bin, I didn't resist and I'm glad that I allowed myself to buy the book.

I like how Tolle emphasizes "watching the thinker". Becoming conscious of my thoughts is a large part of my journey from fear into fun. I haven't rushed through the book. I am still in the first chapter but I've stopped to ruminate (not think) about the difference between pleasure and joy. According to Tolle, every pleasure or emotional high contains within itself the seed of pain. I liken it to yin/yang, dark and light - without one we can't have the other. Tolle also says that "pleasure is derived from something outside of you, whereas joy arises within." I get this in terms of food. The sensations and taste of chocolate, and the resulting pleasure, is from outside of me. The feel of silk against my cheek is externally derived. Pleasure seems to come from our senses, which translate the external into internal reactions.

Where the distinction falls apart for me, is when I ski. I've written much about how I feel when I ski. There were times and still are, where I don't enjoy skiing. Often when I am not enjoying skiing, it's because I am not in the moment, I am not in the "now". Earlier in my journey from feeling frozen to feeling free, I realized that skiing was one of the few times in my life when I felt mind/body integration. I've now incorporated other activities into my life that result in the same feelings...yoga, rock climbing, gardening. Activity is the easiest way from me to get out of my mind and into my body.

I know this isn't true for all. For some, skiing or rock climbing or kayaking gives little pleasure and much muscle pain. But for me, who lived in my head for so many years, the pleasure of intense sport quiets my inner voices and sets the stage for me to allow joy to bubble up from within. My inner voice is still active but my skill in choosing when to listen and when to observe is developing. I have many more moments of being fully present, and it's wonderful.

Light and dark

I was driving home from the mountains on Sunday and the sky cast shadows and light, changing the landscape from familiar postcards to dramatic and meaningful photographs. Storms hovered on the horizon as I passed through the valley between the mountains. As I looked to the south, the peaks were covered in white, etched lower down in shades of grey and white. There was no colour. It was as if Ansel Adams were taking still shot after still shot. While the peaks and cirques were snow-covered, the limestone ridges, cracks and features were dusted with rectangles of snow. Instead of pointillism, I saw hatching but no person had painted the picture. It was nature's alone.

To the north, there was colour, not a lot, just the dark sage of evergreens clustered and silhoutted against the muted mountainside. The valley itself was straw-coloured, but every now and then, a beam of light would center on a peak, a gap, or a tree, and the contrast made me gasp. Nature's spotlight.

Miles later, when I was driving north along flat prairie, the road curved upwards for a moment. There were mountains where there should have been none, but these mountains were not remnants of glacial movement. They were cloud. A stormfront was ahead but instead of ominous grey sky, cumulonimbus clouds reached down to the earth. Above this layer, were altostratus clouds, then blue blue sky. Far above still was a layer of cirrus clouds. It was like a mirage of mountains and I was awestruck.

The drive felt almost spiritual, as if I were receiving a lesson in how to observe and interpret the world, in how light and dark affect perception, and how what we think we see may not be. I am grateful.

Listening to signals

My body is sending me a chorus of signals. I was born under the astrological sign of cancer,which is a water sign. The ocean is calling.

I've written in the past about my toenails, how they get banged and bruised from skiing. In what is becoming a spring rite, I have a toenail that is about to fall off. The fact that it is just one toenail is good. For the past four seasons, I've lost both my big toenails. The timing is ironic in that the bruising happens in early winter and the loosening of the injured toenail occurs in early spring. It's almost like I am shedding my winter's shell and emerging raw and vulnerable to spring's growth.

I've also been feeling dehydrated this past week, so I drank more water, more gatorade, and ate salty foods. What's ironic about this timing is that I was less active last week than I have been in four months. The ski hill where I taught on weekdays is closed so my only skiing was on the weekend. I would have thought that I would feel thirst earlier in the season, not last week. Most likely, though, I was thirsty and dehydrated previously. I just didn't give myself the time to notice. Last week I had more time and I noticed. Today's lunch shows that I hunger for spring. I was drawn to spinach, avocados, blueberries, strawberries, and cashews. I dressed the salad in raspberry walnut vinaigrette. I had an orange for dessert so I got almost all my fruit and veggie colours. The natural fruit and vegetables satisfied my craving more than any of the gatorade or vitamin fortified water out there.

It's not just my toe and thirst that are signalling me. I have a sore lower back. I know this is a common ailment but it is new to me. I feel fine when I look straight ahead. Twisting and turning is what causes discomfort. So for now, I am not twisting and turning. I need to stay on my current straight path. I also suspect that my sore back relates to the anniversary of my mother's death. My back feels better and worse when I suck my core in. I am still holding something in. The release is imminent.

Treating my toe, my thirst, and sore back reminds me of a quote from Isak Dinesen. "Do you know a cure for me? Why yes, he said, I know a cure for everything. Salt water. Salt water? I asked him. Yes, he said, in one form or another, sweat, tears or the salt sea". My mother lived near the ocean during all of her adult life. After her funeral, my brothers and I dove into the cleansing crashing waves of the Atlantic and body surfed. We had not played, the three of us together, in the ocean like that since we were kids. The healing comes from the salt, tides, sand, and all the other magical properties of the sea.

I am thousands of miles from the ocean. I know when I next visit it, the smells will bring tears to my eyes and salt will bring clarity to my vision. In the meantime, I hearken to the signals my body is sending me by soaking in epsom salts, to soften my toenail, to soothe my back, to relieve my thirst. I will visit the ocean soon but I know my mother, brothers and I were all blessed to live near it. As Rachel Carson said: "Those who dwell, as scientists or laymen, among the beauties and mysteries of the earth are never alone or weary of life. "

A poem (about my dog and me)

My puppy is a bent star,
his edges curl over as if he has been dented
by life.
He was.
Stoned and abandoned,
he foraged for food
and found his way to a school
peopled by humans, some kind
some otherwise
All hurt or bent themselves
Their souls struggling to be
free, open, alive.
He was saved
and brought to me.
I struggle between companionship and freedom
He offers one but denies the other,
What if I saw them as the same?
Then bent edges would unfurl
His and mine
and we'd shine and refract the light
still slightly bent but
Bright.

Winter's backpack

I cleaned out my backpack this morning. I've been using it nearly every day since October. It went to Switzerland with me. It went to Rabbit Hill every weekday since the beginning of December, and it has been to the mountains nearly every weekend. I knew there was stuff in it that I hadn't seen in while but was surprised by what I did find. (Thankfully, there were no month-old peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but there was a three-day old tupperware with Friday's lunch residue - yuck but not super yuck.)

I found:
Three pairs of ski mittens
Three pairs of socks
A pair of earrings
My helmet and goggles
My goggles case
A small round tupperware container
A pair of jeans
An extra fleece
A neckwarmer
The electrodes from my boot heaters
My boot heater's batteries
Ski straps
some bits of Christmas wrap
loose change
a pencil
A CD of My Swiss Trip

Cleaning this backpack marks a transition. I no longer need it on a daily basis. I will need it only for the next few weekends and then it will either retire until next Fall or re-purpose into a climbing backpack. I am trying not to feel sad but another part of me says that I should allow myself to feel sad. I hope that part wins. I love winter and I love spring, summer, and fall. It's just that in April, spring really isn't here yet. The snow is melted except dirty clumps clinging to the shade. Brown evergreen needles, bits of garbage windblown through the city, dirt laid down on roads for traction are all uncovered and not yet cleaned by spring rains.

There are signs of spring. If I pull back the withered leaves of last year, I see new Iris shoots emerging from the damp soil. Huddled next to foundations, grass is beginning to green. Children are outside on scooters and trikes.

Winter is the heaviest season. We do need to carry more with us. It is time to shed my backpack and to take down my "Let it Snow" banner. Spring is a time of birth and growth and potential. I look forward to it and being part of it. Begone layers of socks and boot heaters. I will be walking barefoot in green grass soon.

Shoes are poetry

I was at a Hawksley Workman concert this past weekend, and I think he introduced a particularly poignant song with the words "Shoes are poetry". I may not have heard quite right but the song was about shoes, the sad shoes of a shoeshine boy. I think Hawksley is right. Here's my take on shoes as poetry:

Green and brown herringbone Adidas trying to be cool. Jive man, but not quite
Smelly sandals, redolent of summer sand and surf
Pointed stilettos, pointed toes, black and red, what's the image? Nice girl. No
White Keds. Motherhood. Apple Pie
Patterned Keds. Celebrity sources. Advertising at its best(?)
Kids shoes that light up. They know the way.
Black leather boots - whose? They vary so much
Brands, brands, brands
Vans, Diesel, Etnie
Worn at the heel, open-tongued
Polished with spit, covered in mud
Shoes are poetry

So, what does this have to do with living a better life, with turning fear into fun? The point is that shoes are part of how we communicate who we are to the world. Sometimes, our choice of shoes is conscious. We choose to match our outfit, our mood, our clique, our sport. Sometimes we don't have choices. We have one pair without holes in the bottom so we wear them. Sometimes, we wear the shoes even with the holes.

Shoes are only part of how we show ourselves. Marketing convention suggests that the reasons a person chooses a BMW do not relate just to the tangible attributes of the vehicle but also to the psychological benefits. Television programs such as "What not to Wear" play into this aspect. This is all fine and well. My concern is that we not judge each other based on the shortcuts of shoes, clothes, car. Take off the shoes, take off the clothes, strip away regional accents and we are all people. People with the same basic needs. We need food and water, shelter and clothing. We need love and hope and respect.

Over the past week, I have seen numerous people judge each other based on superficial cues. One of the joys of life is meeting people who seem very different from you and then finding connection with them. Heart to heart. Sole to soul.

Labels

I taught a beginner class of skiers yesterday. As I started to move away from the Snow School sign with the group, an adult pulled me aside. "Two of the children are special needs, and lack balance. My husband will stay with the group and help them". I asked "Are you their mother?" She replied, "No, their aide". Walking with skis on for the first time is a challenge for most children. The skis are like big long sticks attached to their feet, and their feet are encased in plastic shells. Many comment that it feels like they are walking on the moon. One of the special children looked up at me as she walked away from the sign with skis on for the first time. "I'm going to have fun today", she confided. I answered, "Yes, you will".

She did have fun and I did too. There was enthusiasm and encouragement for the whole class. On a mere hiccup of a hill, the children practiced sliding their feet into a wedge in order to stop. They listened to instruction and came down in an orderly fashion (or at least as orderly as a beginner class can - there were the expected veers toward the right and the sit down slides to avoid hitting friends). After a bit of practice, we headed to the rope tow on the bunny hill. I provided the usual explanation. "Stand with your skis pointing uphill, put one hand over the rope; then other, letting the rope go through your hands. Hear the buzzing of the rope in your hands and then gently squeeze the rope like you are squeezing toothpaste and let it pull you up the hill".

The temptation to grab the rope and use it for balance while skis are still sideways to the hill is strong. Yet, yesterday, the children resisted the temptation. Some fell during their first try but because they were startled that they riding the tow, not because they were yanked suddenly. I stood behind the boy with special needs. His aide told me that he doesn't have much core strength. I asked if it was okay if I poked his back (which I have learned causes kids to pull in with their abs and stand with strength.) I was told it was okay. I stood directly behind him, with my longer skis parallel to his. If necessary, I would hold on to him as we went up the rope. It wasn't necessary the whole way. I got him started and then gradually slid away from him until he was riding the tow on his own. The aide, her husband, and a parent started to cheer. The boy smiled and said "this is fun". I felt good and felt peace and connectedness. The rest of the class progressed well with all the children learning to slide to a stop and to ride the tow with confidence.

Today I taught another class of beginners. Some elementary schools choose not to identify students with special needs. This is the school's prerogative and I respect it. As soon as we started to move away from the Snow School, I realized that today's class also had several children with special needs. One parent followed us to the bunny hill and observed from a distance. Without the help of aides or parent volunteers, the children waited while I gave the individual attention that was necessary to keep them safe. Some of the children lacked gross motor skills and were not able to line their foot up with the ski to put them on. Progress was slow and, to be honest, my patience waned. I love teaching skiing to children, especially to children who do not often get to be outside and who do not feel the joy and freedom of sliding and the wind in their face. And to be honest, I don't think the children felt the joy and freedom of sliding today. An aide or volunteer or the smaller class size that we would have assigned to me had we known in advance, would have made a difference in the quality of the lesson and enjoyment of the lesson.

Labels can be damaging but they can also be inhibiting. I believe with every fibre of my heart in treating every person I meet with respect and that every person I meet has a role to play in my life. I really felt it was a privilege to witness the children's excitement yesterday when they skied independently. I felt sad today that I was unable to give the same experience to children capable of even more. If differences were accepted, then labels wouldn't matter. Children with autism, children with brain injuries, children with spina bifada, children with two parents, children with no parents, children of the world. Children are children.

Playing chess

I was playing chess with a friend of mine last week, and he asked "how did I learn to play chess?" I really don't remember. I do recall my father teaching me backgammon but it seems that I have always known how a knight moves versus a pawn, king or queen. My friend's interest in how I learned to play chess intrigued me, so I did some research on the internet about women and chess.

Men and boys do predominate the game. Only 1% of chess grandmasters are women and, according to the Chess Museum, "today only a small percentage of players in organized chess are women". Women have played chess since the 19th century and why few girls play and fewer women is the subject of much debate on the internet (which I will not go into here).

Chess is an ancient game. The most widely accepted theory is that chess appeared in India around 600 A.D., played in Persia in 700 A.D. and adopted in Arab culture a hundred years later. There are a lot of variants of chess. The chess that I play is sometimes called Western chess or International chess. Some of the language that we commonly use is derived from chess. The phrase "endgame" reflects the last part of a chess game when relatively few pieces remain on the board.

I associate chess with war tactics. My association has some roots in history. During the middle ages and Renaissance, chess was used to teach young nobles war strategy. Certainly, some war tactics are used in playing a game. I recently used an encirclement strategy while my opponent outflanked me and won.

The learnings from chess are not just about strategy and tactics. Benjamin Franklin wrote an article on the "Morals of Chess" in 1750. In it, he emphasized that chess teaches:

" 1st, Foresight, which looks a little into futurity, and considers the consequences that may attend an action…
2nd, Circumspection, which surveys the whole Chess-board, or scene of action: - the relation of the several Pieces, and their situations…
3rd, Caution, not to make our moves too hastily"

During the game that I played with my friend, I commented that I play chess the way I play golf, which is well, until I lose focus. When I lose focus, I do tend to make moves too hastily. This is exactly what happens to me in golf, in chess, in skiing and in life. So, yet again, I am learning to be in the moment, take time, and take action when the time is right. I enjoy chess more now than when I was a child. Slowly but surely, I am learning and the learning is fun. Vitae Discae.

Changing Seasons

It is March in Alberta and the temperatures are above normal. The snow is melting and the sun is warm. There are only a few weeks left at the ski area where I teach, though mountain skiing will remain open through May. North Americans moved to Daylight Savings this past weekend. The season is changing from winter to spring.

Though I love to ski and have written much about skiing this past winter, I welcome spring. As I walked Bode this afternoon, it was not just his nose that twitched. Mine did too. I smelled spring. Underneath the melting snow, is earth. Pungent, moist. The smells bring me back to childhood, playing near the river where I grew up. The smell is pleasant and evokes the magic of new growth. I noticed tiny buds emerging on shrubs. The grass is still matted and dull brown but no matter, it will green up soon enough. Spring is on its way.

As I drove to the ski hill earlier in the day, I reflected on how I am feeling this year relative to last year. I am happier. There is no doubt. Much has happened in my life since last year but the change is not in the events. The change is in me. I am more accepting of who I am. I realized about ten years ago that I either lived in the past or in future imagining. While I have aspired to live in the moment, it has taken many seasons of change to help me to this point. My happiness is in me. It is not because I am looking forward to a vacation overseas. It is not because my hair is blond, red, or brown. It is not because I am getting a promotion at work.

My happiness is because I now write. I write this blog. I write in a journal. I even write poems. My happiness is because I take risks and pursue challenges and find them both easy and hard. My happiness is because I spend time with myself and time with others. My happiness is because I am active with too many options to do them all. My happiness is because I am alive. Alive to feel the wind on my face, the sun on my arms. Alive to inhale the scent of lemons, cinnamon, and fresh grass. (Alive to be allergic to freshly mown grass). Alive to feel the tightness of an overworked muscle. I am happy in this moment, in this liminal time between winter and spring.

Being. Thinking. Doing.

I've written a fair bit over the past months about being in the moment, and how over-thinking impedes me. I've also written how movement (doing) helps me be, so I was interested to learn a catch phrase of Deepak Chopra while watching PBS. Deepak Chopra kept saying "We are human beings, not human thinkings, not human doings". I really like that. I am a human being, not a human doing, and certainly not a human thinking.

In contrast to the presentation of eastern philosophy by Deepak Chopra, I was given a newspaper article this week that describes a similar way of being, but from a very different perspective. The article is from a rural weekly newspaper (I have a clipping and am looking for the author in order to give credit) and describes a six year boy's response to his dog's death. The adults were wondering about the fact that many animal lives are shorter than human lives. The six year old piped up that "People are born so that they can learn how to live a good life - like loving everybody all the time and being nice, right? Well dogs already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long."

Okay, so this doesn't explain an elephant's lifespan but it does get at the point of animals being and doing, not thinking. The article went on to describe the lessons we might learn from a dog. I was surprised to see how many of them describe how I want to live my life (my comments are in italics).

• When loved ones come home, always run to greet them (I do the running part not so often, but it's almost always in my head to do so)
• Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride (Even with a broad definition of joyride, I admit to letting many opportunities pass by)
• Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure ecstasy (YUP!!! It's why I love skiing and sailing so much)
• Take naps (Yes - I especially like them in late winter when the sun shines in and warms my legs)
• Stretch before rising (Does yoga count? Actually, I did stretch my legs and arms straight this morning before getting out of bed)
• Run, romp, and play daily (especially in ski season)
• Thrive on attention and let people touch you (Nope, but I am learning to appreciate attention rather than retreat from it)
• Avoid biting when a simple growl will do (I'm not sure how to answer this one)
• One warm days, stop to lie on our back on the grass (I really like doing this, especially in early spring and early autumn)
• When you're happy, dance around and wag your entire body (sports are my way of dancing and wagging)
• Delight in the simple joy of a long walk (Yes, but not always, though more and more often)
• Eat with gusto and enthusiasm. Stop when you have had enough. (Most of the time)
• Be loyal. Never pretend to be something you're not (This is my quest to just be and on-going
• Be always grateful for each new day. (This is also an on-going quest)

A dog is not a human being, but can teach me how to be. I have learned from books and through my thoughts how to be. I am learning through doing how to be. Part of being is learning for life, through life. Vitae Discae. Pace.

Found poetry

Poetry. The mere word evokes rhythm and emotion. Sensuous, frivolous, silly, strong, captivating. Poetry is part of life and not often read. Yet, I have found myself looking for poetry in the unexpected. For the past few months, I have looked for poetry in road signs, in journals, in newspaper headlines and in e-mails. And, I have found that poetry does appear where least expected. Just last weekend, I found a bulletin board full of actual poems outside a public washroom. Some of the poems were serious; others were limericks.

I believe that I am looking for poetry, without picking up a book, because poetry implies flow. Mihaly Csíkszentmihályi writes about flow in stern almost academic prose. His writing is not poetry but his ideas about flow are. In an interview, Csíkszentmihályi described flow as "being completely involved in an activity for its own sake. The ego falls away. Time flies. Every action, movement, and thought follows inevitably from the previous one, like playing jazz. Your whole being is involved, and you're using your skills to the utmost." To achieve a flow state, a balance must be struck between the challenge of the task and the skill of the performer. If the task is too easy or too difficult, flow cannot occur."

That every action, movement and thought follows from the previous one is the appeal of found poetry to me. Not all poems have flow but many words and thoughts printed in ordinary prose become poetic when flow is present. The melody is there, and resonance, and message. Poetry is individual and authentic. It is part of life. Poetry helps communicate and define emotion: joy, catharsis, anger, fear, love. Language alone is not a bridge to channel feelings from one person to another. Language, turned to poetry, is the bridge. For poetry to flow, the challenge for the writer is the careful selection of words and the challenge for the reader is skillful interpretation.

I am looking for poetry because I am looking for truth and beauty. Finding poetry, where unintended, requires me to use my my aptitude for language to my utmost. Finding poetry is part of my path.

Unfolding serenity

February has flown by. I have been busy. Busy with work, busy with family, busy with fun. But, have I been too busy? Maybe, maybe not. The month has flown by and, by and large, I have gone with the flow. I made plans but situations changed, and I altered my plans. The biggest difference for me in this month versus similar past busy months is that I didn't over-analyze things. Some of the situations (almost all) were not within my control. In the past, I would have questioned what I could or could not have done differently to affect the outcome. This month, I recognized that what was done was done and I can only control how I feel at any given moment. I realized that I can influence how I choose to feel.

This made it much easier to be in the moment. It was almost as if I were an observer, watching a flower unfold. During the month it rained (figuratively) but instead of seeing this as dampening effect, I chose to see it as providing moisture to nourish future growth. During the month, winds of gossip and dissension swirled in my vicinity. I chose to step aside and watch as the winds dissipated. During the month, I developed my ability to let the right things be. I've been familiar with the "Serenity Prayer" since I was a teenager and I have tried to live by its precepts for many years. This was the month, in which I allowed myself to live by its precepts. For a stormy month, February was indeed serene. Serenity is a flower, pink and yellow, soft and fragrant. Serenity unfolds in warmth and closes with cold. It is everblooming but requires fertilizing. Life can be serene.

"God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and the wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time; enjoying one moment at a time...."
- Rheinhold Neibuhr