My husband and I may be taking a course in January called Holistic Management. It is intended for farmer’s but the principles can be applied to many aspects of our lives. Hence, my interest in it.
What the course teaches is to look at farming as a process that should help us meet our life’s purpose – a means to an end - and not the end in itself. In other words, we should tend to a piece of land because the act of doing it makes us feel at home in ourselves. For me, I have always enjoyed the satisfaction gained from creating food for people and the ability to do something real with my hands that always provides new opportunities to learn. (Indeedy that it is). But in the business and busy-ness of it all, the wholeness started to break into little tiny parts. And the sum of these parts were less than that of the whole.
Focusing on a complete entity, instead of the fragmented parts, I believe, is a spiritual practise. Wholeness is found when your little heart fills with curiosity and wonder about the day ahead as soon as you get up in the morning. Where you are connected to your pure self. There is so much about where we live that brings out that innocent, curious child in me. This is why I feel both confusion and hope when I become so tired from it despite having everything I ever wanted right under my nose.
My husband and I journeyed into a life beside each other because we worked well together. We bought a farm because we both appreciated the elements that it had to offer, not because it was entirely central to our plans. Within a few years there was a business, two children and major renovations and farm makeovers. We fared it well, I believe, but there was a landslide of responsibilities from very early on in the relationship. Though we were building our dream life together, my focus slowly shifted to all that we had to get done and away from the reasons why we were doing it.
What I had forgotten was that it was the two of us that had breathed life into our farm. And in return we were given a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction. When, if ever, did our farm sign an ownership agreement to take possession of the two of us? How important to incorporate the needs of our family, our bodies, our house, our personal practices into our lives, despite the deands of our work. Yet it became so easy to take care of the pieces forgetting that there was a whole system to attend to. Focusing on the housekeeping and not the house.
Apparently, the clues to finding the underlying purpose of your life are all around you. I have read that in order to create change we should build tomorrow out of the stuff of today. In other words, it may not be necessary to quit your job, move out of the country, sell the farm and send your kids away to change your life! That is like throwing the baby out with the bath water.
Instead you ought to seek out the reason why you ventured where you did in the first place. What was the original passion that brought you to this undertaking? Then you tweak your decisions until the original purpose becomes clear again. That way you get to keep the good stuff, chuck the rest.
Sometimes our reasons get left in the attic with the rest of the unpacked boxes. The most valuable things can be stored away for safe-keeping. Yet having our dreams out of reach is not useful in the event that they are needed. It seems if you lose sight of the reasons why you’re doing what you do, you’re left with nothing but a to-do list. And that, in my opinion, is not enough.
I do look around and see that I still possess the stuff that my dreams are made of. I have a partner that is compatible with me beyond my wildest expectations. There are children that are healthy and seemingly happy despite the bumpy parts. My body is starting to relish in the changes from regular activity and healthier intake (Christmas cookies aside). I still humour artistic urges on a regular basis. There is love aplenty and strength to persevere and a palette to tell it all to in writing. What more could a girl ask for?
As the New Year approaches, I look forward to awakening to the purpose behind my life again.
One of my favourite sayings is the one about taking a journey only to find what you were looking for was waiting back where you started.
This year, may you tease apart the busy and unpack the purpose that brought you here. And know that you have the intuition needed to find your path back to the beginning. Back to where the circle is once again made whole.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Broken Muscles, Broken Heart
When I am working on gaining fitness, my focus shifts from the numbers on a scale and the size of my pants to how I feel. This is a very good thing. Though the number on the scale has recently been climbing (I’ve decided it is all that muscle I’m gaining and not the twelve boxes of chocolates I’m indulging in), I don’t beat myself up over it. Instead, I throw on my running shoes and remind myself of the power and potential strength my body houses.
This morning I propped the kids on the couch with a bowl of oatmeal and headed out for a cold, winter morning run with the dogs. It seemed a necessary undertaking (as did this post) before the wind of Christmas sweeps us away for the next number of days.
The sun was shining on newly fallen snow causing the entire untrampled ground surface to glisten like lights on a mirror. The temperature hovered around -15C which is the kind of cold that makes the condensation from your breath build icicles on your eyelashes. But I had dressed for it. Looking through these sparkling frames around my lashes gave an effect that no Photoshopped Christmas card could ever accomplish. A moving picture of magic all around me.
A few days ago I played my first game of squash in a very long time with a seasoned player and had to take a couple of days off of any form of exercise. If you’ve ever played the game, you know what I mean. I had squash butt. Which means you can’t lower yourself onto a toilet or down a single stair or bend to pick anything up, or get yourself out of bed or into a car for a couple of days. I felt 80 years old. Yet, exceptionally pleased to be back in the game so to speak.
The game of squash to me, with the right partner, is an exercise in all manner of expression. I spend the 45 minutes listening to my heart pounding in my chest, wiping sweat from my brow, breathing heavily, giggling at my follies, cursing at my mistakes and enjoying the power of a really good shot every once in a very little while. All of this is shared with another person. That is trust and intimacy in its deepest form. In order to turn purple and slog through such a thing in front of someone, you really need to trust them.
My daughter asked me why I was limping about yesterday and I explained the way you do to a 6 year old in simple terms. When we exercise, we are making ourselves stronger. In order for your muscles to build, they have to first break themselves apart. And that feeling hurts but it is just your body telling you that you are getting stronger.
What a beautiful metaphor for the heart. We have heard about how we can be stronger in the broken places. How a broken bone is stronger when it heals. But when you have experienced a broken heart (and I’m certain we all have in one way or another) it is very difficult to see that this ‘injury’ is one that will lead to greater strength in the future.
These holidays are a time that we get to learn how to open our hearts to the world. We are exposed to all manner of challenges to get ourselves ready for the festivities and offer as much as we can to those in need. People get frayed and fragile during these emotional times. And we forget to take care of ourselves and wonder why we end up sick or crying or mad or feeling guilty when we're supposed to be filled with only joy and cheer.
Christmas (or any other celebration that you observe) becomes an opportunity to break apart. And find yourself at the end of the calendar year healed in some strange way from the process. Because we are given the opportunity to put ourselves back together in a way that is more stable than ever before.
May your heart be broken this season. Wide open. Taking in all of the wonder and beauty of the world around you. Letting go of the pain or the worry or the guilt or the fear. May you find strength in the broken places.
Almost like somebody put on shiny, ice-sparkled glasses when you took the opportunity to run through a winter wonderland.
Happy holidays to all.
This morning I propped the kids on the couch with a bowl of oatmeal and headed out for a cold, winter morning run with the dogs. It seemed a necessary undertaking (as did this post) before the wind of Christmas sweeps us away for the next number of days.
The sun was shining on newly fallen snow causing the entire untrampled ground surface to glisten like lights on a mirror. The temperature hovered around -15C which is the kind of cold that makes the condensation from your breath build icicles on your eyelashes. But I had dressed for it. Looking through these sparkling frames around my lashes gave an effect that no Photoshopped Christmas card could ever accomplish. A moving picture of magic all around me.
A few days ago I played my first game of squash in a very long time with a seasoned player and had to take a couple of days off of any form of exercise. If you’ve ever played the game, you know what I mean. I had squash butt. Which means you can’t lower yourself onto a toilet or down a single stair or bend to pick anything up, or get yourself out of bed or into a car for a couple of days. I felt 80 years old. Yet, exceptionally pleased to be back in the game so to speak.
The game of squash to me, with the right partner, is an exercise in all manner of expression. I spend the 45 minutes listening to my heart pounding in my chest, wiping sweat from my brow, breathing heavily, giggling at my follies, cursing at my mistakes and enjoying the power of a really good shot every once in a very little while. All of this is shared with another person. That is trust and intimacy in its deepest form. In order to turn purple and slog through such a thing in front of someone, you really need to trust them.
My daughter asked me why I was limping about yesterday and I explained the way you do to a 6 year old in simple terms. When we exercise, we are making ourselves stronger. In order for your muscles to build, they have to first break themselves apart. And that feeling hurts but it is just your body telling you that you are getting stronger.
What a beautiful metaphor for the heart. We have heard about how we can be stronger in the broken places. How a broken bone is stronger when it heals. But when you have experienced a broken heart (and I’m certain we all have in one way or another) it is very difficult to see that this ‘injury’ is one that will lead to greater strength in the future.
These holidays are a time that we get to learn how to open our hearts to the world. We are exposed to all manner of challenges to get ourselves ready for the festivities and offer as much as we can to those in need. People get frayed and fragile during these emotional times. And we forget to take care of ourselves and wonder why we end up sick or crying or mad or feeling guilty when we're supposed to be filled with only joy and cheer.
Christmas (or any other celebration that you observe) becomes an opportunity to break apart. And find yourself at the end of the calendar year healed in some strange way from the process. Because we are given the opportunity to put ourselves back together in a way that is more stable than ever before.
May your heart be broken this season. Wide open. Taking in all of the wonder and beauty of the world around you. Letting go of the pain or the worry or the guilt or the fear. May you find strength in the broken places.
Almost like somebody put on shiny, ice-sparkled glasses when you took the opportunity to run through a winter wonderland.
Happy holidays to all.
 | Eyesicles |
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Securing Your Words
Do you ever wonder what leads people to reveal themselves in writing? Worse yet, all over the internet in blogs, or social media outlets? Why share intimate details of one's personal life in public fora? I often get a look of puzzlement when I speak of wanting to write my story. I think if you’re a private person, the idea of splattering your worst moments, or even your best, all over the place would be as comfortable as peeling your eyelids inside out.
I don’t consider myself a gregarious person. I actually think I fall more accurately into the private category. But I have these words that find me and feel like I’d be letting myself down if I didn’t let them out of their box. They are pushy, these words, and are looking for a way to be heard.
I am reading Carrie Fisher’s latest memoir called Shockaholic where she talks about her experience on shock therapy for depression (among other things). The woman is hilarious, incredibly intelligent and seemingly constantly at the whim of her feelings. She’s a bona fide navel gazer and a darn good one in my opinion!
I have never needed to come across as a ‘together’ person, only an honest one. Though I find myself wondering why she feels the need to reveal so much about herself. Why can’t she write the book and tuck it away in a drawer somewhere until someone finds it after she dies?
But the truth is that I already know why. In fact, Carrie Fisher says it best when she says she puts her feelings into words and prays they won’t get out again. Like drugs or alcohol (which Fisher admits she has used plenty of in her day), words can take the edge off of a problem, bring light (at least temporarily) to dark corners, make the unbearable easier to face – or at least hide from.
Yet the beauty of words is that they don’t give you a hangover. The solutions that appear in writing cannot only prevent self-destruction, but have the ability to help others when they are used well. Although they might be addictive, I would argue that they are more likely elusive and you couldn’t get a dealer to bring them to you no matter how much money you had.
Words can be a perfect friend telling you all the right things at just the right moment. They can make you feel connected or guided. When you find the right ones, I believe it is a gift to offer them to the world. To keep them to yourself for reasons of pride or ego would be selfish, in my opinion.
The world needs our words. Carefully chosen, artfully arranged, respectfully shared. Without words, we have no voice and cannot be heard. There is a place for silence, and a time for words.
I don’t think we should ever feel badly for sharing our thoughts. The words that make the world make sense to us, they may be the same words that another needs to hear.
I’m not signing up to be anyone’s therapist here. I wouldn’t be so bold to assume that I could make a difference in anyone’s life. But I can not judge another for using words as a way of quelling fears or confusion or loneliness. I could not assume that sharing words about matters close to home is an unstable practise. Sometimes words are what a person needs to get through the day.
What Fisher neglected to mention is that her feelings may well find their way into words, and though she prays they won't, they may in fact get out again. Out into the world where they can make a difference, change a life, help an idea along or alter a mood. And that may not in any way be a bad thing.
I don’t consider myself a gregarious person. I actually think I fall more accurately into the private category. But I have these words that find me and feel like I’d be letting myself down if I didn’t let them out of their box. They are pushy, these words, and are looking for a way to be heard.
I am reading Carrie Fisher’s latest memoir called Shockaholic where she talks about her experience on shock therapy for depression (among other things). The woman is hilarious, incredibly intelligent and seemingly constantly at the whim of her feelings. She’s a bona fide navel gazer and a darn good one in my opinion!
I have never needed to come across as a ‘together’ person, only an honest one. Though I find myself wondering why she feels the need to reveal so much about herself. Why can’t she write the book and tuck it away in a drawer somewhere until someone finds it after she dies?
But the truth is that I already know why. In fact, Carrie Fisher says it best when she says she puts her feelings into words and prays they won’t get out again. Like drugs or alcohol (which Fisher admits she has used plenty of in her day), words can take the edge off of a problem, bring light (at least temporarily) to dark corners, make the unbearable easier to face – or at least hide from.
Yet the beauty of words is that they don’t give you a hangover. The solutions that appear in writing cannot only prevent self-destruction, but have the ability to help others when they are used well. Although they might be addictive, I would argue that they are more likely elusive and you couldn’t get a dealer to bring them to you no matter how much money you had.
Words can be a perfect friend telling you all the right things at just the right moment. They can make you feel connected or guided. When you find the right ones, I believe it is a gift to offer them to the world. To keep them to yourself for reasons of pride or ego would be selfish, in my opinion.
The world needs our words. Carefully chosen, artfully arranged, respectfully shared. Without words, we have no voice and cannot be heard. There is a place for silence, and a time for words.
I don’t think we should ever feel badly for sharing our thoughts. The words that make the world make sense to us, they may be the same words that another needs to hear.
I’m not signing up to be anyone’s therapist here. I wouldn’t be so bold to assume that I could make a difference in anyone’s life. But I can not judge another for using words as a way of quelling fears or confusion or loneliness. I could not assume that sharing words about matters close to home is an unstable practise. Sometimes words are what a person needs to get through the day.
What Fisher neglected to mention is that her feelings may well find their way into words, and though she prays they won't, they may in fact get out again. Out into the world where they can make a difference, change a life, help an idea along or alter a mood. And that may not in any way be a bad thing.
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