Saturday, March 28, 2020

Gratitude (a prayer)

Reality (CAI2020)

Thank you, Mother, for the lesson they can't ignore
A warning, clear and stern
with no wiggle room for doubt
thank you for the lightness of the sentence
a lesson, not a punishment,
not yet
thank you for sending us home
for tearing so many holes, all at once
so we have no choice but to stop
take stock
and rebuild
Father, please protect us
keep us well and safe and warm
loved and sheltered from the storm
a wish for all
a wish for life
May I fortify my best
may I pass this test of my humanity
flying with the colours
being with the memory
of now.

Friday, March 20, 2020


Ballot Cast (2019 CAI)
it's already happened
it's happening now.
it makes me tired just to look at it,
but still, in the end,
I vote yes.

Indefinite, not infinite (Maverick Missives)

Indefinite Wisdome (CAI 2019)
The concept of Maximum holds the key.
The limits.
Unlimitless requires an infinite environment
of course Spirit pursues it!
But in a body, it’s destructive
Because Earth is not an infinite environment
Earth is an indefinite environment
And that is a totally different animal.

Earth has a limit. 
Nothing is created or destroyed, only changed
Nothing much comes in. Very little goes out.
We can do this, indefinitely

But not limitlessly. 

Limits create the definition
that allows indefinition to continue.

Wake up!

Saturday, March 7, 2020

Fabulous Women

Too Subtle (CAI 2019)

As I prepare to attend an International Women's Day Conference where there are many speakers I find interesting and admire, I have a confession to make: I secretly hate inspirational talks.

I know it’s a bit perverse and I’m probably jealous of the amazing people, but I have a habit of letting inspirational talks shame me. They highlight my inadequacy. I am not inspirational like them. All my promise, all my potential, everything I’ve done to learn and grow and figure out life’s challenges, all my failures that I call learning experiences; all I know and long to share with the world, is not much, after all. Not polished. Not finished. Not interesting. Not coherent. Not enough.

Maybe we could organize a conference of the women no one ever asks to speak, because their stories seem suspiciously common. Because they are not accomplished enough, not fabulous enough, haven’t managed to come out the other side of their challenges and put together a tidy TED-inspired story of how they grew and what they know and what they did that was so important. 

Maybe I’d rather hear mumbled, uncertain snippets from women who are still mired and mucking around. Women who have accomplished staying alive today and doing all the things that needed doing to keep their lives afloat and take care of the people they care about, despite a bevy of personal challenges. I want to hear how they find ways to be sane and loving, when the world is so terrible. I want to see how they grab and protect moments of creative inspiration despite a life filled with chores. I want to hear how they sometimes manage to break through the resentment of having all the work and none of the glory. I want to understand how they keep believing in themselves even when no one else believes in them, when the world tells them there’s nothing in them to believe in, anyway, and that situation has not changed despite their best efforts. I’d like to understand how they manage their chronic pain and constant, underlying anxiety. How they get back in touch with their bodies and learn to love them, or fail to do so despite years of trying. I want to know how they cope with never finishing anything they start, but plugging away at it anyway, or how they reconcile themselves to give it up. I would like to understand, too, how they feel about the Inspirational Women being Fabulous until common efforts begin to feel pointless, since they can’t be held up like a polished diamond for admiration. Are they inspired?

Maybe, instead of seeking inspiration in the exceptional, what I really crave is to feel inspired to hold myself, exactly as I am, as special and important. To feel that I’m not alone. To admire other messy, “unaccomplished” women who are scraping together their own purpose amidst a life dedicated to others, in a world designed to keep us from knowing our true godliness. 

I think I want to believe that I’m not a failure because no one cares about my experiences. I want to feel like I’m one of many on a journey that is important, somehow, even if I never come out the other side. I deeply wish to believe that my lack of audience reach doesn’t mean I’m a waste.

But, I suspect that craving for consolation doesn’t deserve respect.  Let alone a whole conference.

And, anyway, no one would come.

And also, I would not speak there. 

I am not so jealous of the Fabulous Women because they get to speak and be heard. I am jealous because they get to be so brave and motivated that they can do it. I can't remember the last time I felt that way, like I could tackle something like wrapping my knowledge into an interesting present for the world and delivering it with gusto. I can't remember the last time that the thought of doing something really interesting and probably very useful didn't feel like an invitation to failure, an imposition on energy, something I probably can't get done before life drags me backwards three steps. When I see the Fabulous Women and I know, they are actually fabulous, it makes me notice what I am, now. Where I am, now. What I can be, now. And I'm not satisfied. The best I can do is not good enough for me. I should be able to step up, and in. Life keeps sending me setbacks like curve balls I really should have seen coming, and I'm not sure I have the disposition for it. When I go somewhere to get inspired by the people who overcame that, I feel tired. Too tired to even admire what they do. 

I am of diminished capacity. I am limited in body and mind in ways that make my spirit lose interest altogether. I may never understand the most fundamental things that everyone else seems to get. And I have no way to help anyone else with anything they are experiencing, because following the disjointed path of my breadcrumbs would try the patience of a saint. It has. And that will likely be the only way to get what I had to give, in the end. It wasn't what I hoped for. 

But maybe today will be different. Maybe today, the inspiration will spark instead of snuff. Maybe today I will walk away with energy I didn't have before. So I go.

Because hope is the only path to peace that feels compelling. 

Tuesday, March 3, 2020

To weep is not weak

In this fragile state I am often weepy
Tears rise unbidden,
stinging eyes, constricting
I sigh, again to find myself overcome
becoming weak right in the centre
of my strong
I play along with life, all the while
wondering about this feline creature
playing with me.
Weeping, but not weak
Weakened moments a release,
of tension, dissonance, consternation.

I cry, for a moment I cry
(a moment or two)
all the while knowing that I will make it through
back to me
this is not the sum
dying isn't the worst of what's to come
and life always offers consolations
to those who see.