Transitioning

I am alive and the world is alive. On days when my spirit is bright, amazement overcomes me. Possibilities stretch themselves out; for my life, for the day, for the moment.
In contrast there are those dull days where I plod along step after step, eyes half open and a fog settled over my heart.

Now, in November, with the first snow having come and gone, is a time of transition. It is by nature the season to turn inward. My winter plans entail much of this ; personal work through writing , reading, and contemplation.
This year, due to life's circumstances, the change feels abrupt. Suddenly the days open up. It started 2 days ago. Here was my first day off without the company of visiting family, travel plans or outside work. I had pushed the clean up from fence building and the raking of leaves clear into November. The weather offered me the repreive I needed. Now all lies quiet and in a state of reasonable completeness.

Transitioning isn't easy work, even if one is grateful for the change of pace and focus. There ensues a restlessness. The energy previously put into physical outdoor activity needs converting. For me it becomes a time for walking. Being with the trees, fresh air and decaying leaves, my mind can begin its inward turning while still engaged with life.

A person needs this time of quietness, of reconnectiing with self. I think the Wiccan calender has it right, beginning a new year at Samhain (Halloween) Now is a time of reflection of what the year has brought and perhaps contemplation of the year to come.

I wait for snow to cover the land, providing a soft white shroud under which to hide. From here I shall begin the journey back and down deep into myself, ready to search my soul for its knowingness. Thus I can bring forth my truth anew in the springtime.

Radha

Experiencing Ziraat`

Freshly home from a retreat

Sorting through ideas,feelings, connections

Keeping what works for me

Discarding what does not

Building a fence to save some quietness

Digging into the mother earth to set the posts

the ground too hard to pound them

Opening wounds; my heart cries out

Filling in the holes, raking it smooth

Harrowing is hard work which makes life bearable

Salvaging the damaged terrain

Soothing the pain

Sorting through the rocks

Claiming the fertile soil

Planting seeds of hope, integrity, new growth

One heart, one earth breathing

Radha

Inwardly

In silent sitting I found myself
There in the garden of my heart
Deep in the cave of my beingness
Still waters breathing

Ode to Cowboy

Here you are, talking about some new way to deal with compost.Some hairbrain scheme, I think. You forge ahead without gathering info - no internet perusal or calls to the local gardening shop.You create your own scenario and I become irritated.

Why should this irritate me when it is the rebel in you that I love? Feeling your bare bum with my hands as I embrace you, at the side of the highway, between the pickup truck and the lake, where we stopped to watch the swans. My hysterical laughter blossoms forth with this discovery. You have dropped your pants, just for a lark, just to see my smiling eyes.

You provide a reality check for not caring what other people think. I call you my hillbilly as you ski in paint stained coveralls and a baclava rolled up on the top of your head, amongst streamlined, synthetic, brightly colored skisuits. I cruise the thin line between self conscious embarrassment and the pride of not caring what those others see and think.

You, my philosophical cowboy with neither horse nor cows. Married to the land and waiting for calves. Preparing .... always preparing. Where do I fit in all this I ask, treading the road that dissappears into the future. Well, you are here now you say, in honest amazement.

Radha

Watching the moon at Midnight

Watching the moon at midnight had become commonplace for Sherri. She would fall into bed exhausted once the twins were settled around 9 o'clock. She had learned how to still her mind and fall into a deep sleep. But always, just before midnight she would rise. Well, not exactly. It was more like something would rise up inside her. In the centre of her dreams, in the core of her being there would be a stirring. It was an excitement she couldn't ignore, as the tingling spread outward to her skin and upward into her consciousness. With guilty pleasure she would awaken and grabbing her housecoat, slip outside onto the patio.
There the moon would be waiting for her. Tonight she sighed as she gazed at its brightness, not quite full. This was her quiet time, secretly claimed. The moon seemed to look back and penetrate her very being, assuring her it had called her from her sleep. The moon and her held no secrets between them. All was revealed, slowly accepted and forgiven. Being alone with the twins was tough and Sherri knew she made mistakes. But as she and the moon looked deeply into one another, she felt drawn up and enfolded in the vastness of Love; pulled into the purity of Truth.
Truth was she did her best, day to day. The moon offered her a whole other world of thoughts and desires and wonderment that stretched past her everyday existence. A million possibilities to muse apon. She would carry these held safely in her heart the next day, like little shining lights. They would surface at unknown moments throughout the mundane activities involved in raising 4 year olds on her own. She would smile as she knew with certainty her connection to a larger lifeforce where beauty and harmony reigned. A peacefulness would settle within her, as she witnessed the innocent laughter of these beautiful little beings entrusted to her care.
Radha

Addendum

The runner up photo from the "Wild Edges"

Wild Edges

More for me the wild edge

Where spirits roam free

Purple vetch tumbling with sweet pea

Clover by the front porch

Daisies by the garden gate

Not the stuff for garden tours

Plants tended all for show

Manicured, pedigreed, prize winning

All in place and evenly spaced

Apealing to the ordered mind

My lawn is a daisy field

White faces raised to the sun

Time enough for the mower

When their lifespan is done

Somewhere deep I am moved to see

The dandelion push through

While sweet peas climb the telephone pole

Tall lupines marching ever closer

Their freedom a reflection of me

Radha

Cariboo Thoughts

With rivers wide and silty, space opens up
Pastures stretch out into the distance
Meadow grass so beautiful; subtle shades of green and rust
Cows, ever present, make their way with slow intention
An occasional pair of cranes lifts up
Their calls clanging through the quietness
With darkness, deeper silence
Broken only by the howl of wolf or yip of coyote
There is a starkness here
The land efficient, never extravagant
Its steadfast simplicity entraps you
Settles into your being as serenity
Radha
Note: poem written Sept 2008., photo May 2009

Stories - told and untold

People have stories. Sometimes they fill a person up, occupying every conceivable space within. For some this is a permanent and constant state ( and I ponder that if the story being focused on lies very far in the past this could be an unhealthy state ) For others, I believe , this is more evident at times of personal crisis and change.

All that said, I remember many times over the years when I was so anxious and ready to tell my story to almost anyone. There were times I would then scold myself and wonder why I had shared so much with someone I hardly knew.

Perhaps in the settling of my life ( if life is ever settled) or even hopefully in the maturing of mind and soul over years, I now am able to use more discernment. I have learned the importance of listening ; of simply being present.

Women's retreats have taught me much about really listening and also sharing with a certain discernment and grace. I remember the first time I attended a women's retreat. My life was in transition. I lived with confusion, sorrow and pain. I was so willing to unload my emotional burdens, thinking this emptying and sharing the most healing of activities. Indeed it was healing to be heard.

But over time I have experienced the way in which other women's stories have enriched my life. I understand what an honor it has been to be entrusted with these glimpses into the difficulties and accomplishments of other lives. These have been stories of sadness and heartbreak, illness and loss, of triumph, joy and bravery, of dreams attained or yet to be attained. I have come to see that whatever else I may gain from these wonderful shared encounters, these explorations into spirit, the stories stay with me and are a living part of my reality. They are a connection to the web of life.

Everyday life gives us many opportunities to have these glimpses, often simply by stopping to listen. There comes to mind a time one winter when my sweetie and I were walking on a trail along Shuswap Lake, bordering on the town of Salmon Arm. We encountered a fellow who started to converse with us and to share his story. It was a story of rejection, betrayal ( deportation in fact) of anger yet also of starting over and of hope. It was definitely an intense life changing time for him. We listened and we wished him well. After he went on his way, a thought occured to me. He likely presumed we were a local couple out for a stroll ; an everyday kind of occurance. But this was not the case, this walk a rare opportunity. Ours was the story of a romantic Valentines day rendezvous. We had each travelled several hours from opposite directions to meet at this chosen town. The next day we would take this lakeshore walk again, and make our farewells. We would get into separate vehicles; one heading north and one south, each taking with us our sweet memories in joyful hearts, not to see each other for many weeks.

So, I thought, such a story he had missed, simply by not asking; so full he had been with the details of his life and transitions. I wonder how many magical stories I may have missed, in times when I was so filled up with the goings on of my own life that I didn't think to ask.

Radha

Summertime Apart

Summertime brings time apart
Our connection kept alive over phone wires
Where voices embrace, stories mingle
Lives touch across miles
The faith is kept; hearts swell

Though much is missed in physical absence:
Lilac, iris, then lilies bloom
Smell of petunia and old fashioned rose
Taste of berries, then peas and tomatoes
Sound of crickets in cool evening air
Full moon rising over the ridge
First appearance of twin spotted fawns

Such wondrous things, and I,
keeper of faith, gardens and home
With summershort hair
Favorite skimpy clothes
Skin, warm from the sun, wet from the river
yearn for your return...

In autumn, when all is faded
Seeds scattered, produce gathered
Scent of change in cool mountain air
Await your smiling face, your embrace
To stroll through falling leaves, eyes linked
The feel of my hand in yours
Radha

Water

Water envelopes me
It fills my soft tissues
with the water breath
and floods into the trees
on the edges of waterways
We are full to overflowing
Rehydrated

Fast and shining white
it races down sheer rock banks
on the roadside
Collects in darkest clouds
and drops from the sky
First with a light tenderness
Then gathering speed and fullness

Fresh and refreshing
it hangs in the air after the rain
Its scent intoxicating
The leafy trees swell with their new greenness
While birds gather to sing
their praises to this gift of life
Radha

River Refuge

Sand and rocks
roots crossing
long pine needles
the color of rust
walking
thoughts tumbling
watching the river
so sure
constantly on
patterns in the whitewater
changing, rearranging
never stopping
merganser in the eddy
calm water
so deep
breathing
slowing down
seeing beauty Radha

Daring to

Can I just sit and write here
whatever springs into my mind
scary... yes... like sharing ones morning papers
only now it is night and dark
and I am shivery and wraped in my shawl
though the thermostat says the house is warm
it was hot today... truly spring
and I pruned the cherry trees
so proud of my self climbing and getting the job done
there is the ladder and there is the monkey I told my neighbor from high in one tree
one has to balance the two like so many other things
some I don't do well like sleep and waking time
always reluctant to give up on the day always two more things to do
the coulds and shoulds and must dos
life can be so complicated ... so many choices
simplicity is a choice too
I could just go to bed
but then again .... maybe I just think I want simplicity

Closer to retirement ; a day in the life

Its the beginnng of a new year for me, though birthdays don't mean the same now - one year closer to retirement is what it means - 4 to go though I may consider leaving sooner. People don't always understand this sentiment. My fellow never gets it that I don't take many calls for extra work. I feel guilty telling him when I have called in sick. Its too draining a job to do when you are not well. He takes his toolbelt to work- hammers, nails, measures and many more. He works with concrete and wood. I work with people. I take myself to work : my heart and soul. I guess everyone does, in the way that they are not easily separated from your body, but mine are my tools . At least this is the way I see it. I have other tools like stethescopes, syringes, vital sign machines and medications but my heart and soul (along with observation and communication skills ) , are intertwined and not extractable from my work. As I push my med cart from room to room I am not just the drug dispenser; though getting medications out to 8 or 10 patients in a timely manner without mistakes ( but never without interruptions ) is no small feat.
Remembering my last shift, moments shine through- having / taking time to talk to a young patient. Addicted to alcohol, he had often been resistent to our care. Now, with yellow skin and a bloated abdomen, he finally realizes, and tells me he knows he is fighting for his life this time. Yes, I say and stop to listen. Too late for much of a life, I know in my heart. A sweet man, nearly 20 years my junior. Another conversation that felt like a successful encounter was with the daughter of a client, who intended to write up information for the staff - on how to care for her mother who suffers from incapacitating dementia. Small hints about activities of daily living given from a family who dealt with this situation for as long as they could at home before being forced to seek help.
On this day I am remembering I was required to go to emerg for "a code" An unusual event for me. Here is the picture:

I am there to record. A woman lies unconscious on a stretcher, her upper body exposed as leads are placed on her chest to attach her to a heart monitor, and intravenouses are started in her arms. The monitor shows her heart is beating but a nurse is breathing for her: pumping a bag to push air into an airway placed in her mouth. The doctor is trying to intubate ( place a longer tube that will assure that air gets to her lungs) and at the same time ordering drugs. I am handed a clipboard as I arrive and I record everything - vital signs, drugs given etc... In a few moments I notice the woman's name on the clipboard - someone I knew years ago. Our children went to grade school together before they split ways. She is only 4 years older than me - starting spring gardening she had collapsed suddenly. Help had come quickly. She has friends waiting in the waiting room. Once she is stabilized and warm blankets cover her body, her friends are allowed to come in. I encourage them to come close to her head and talk to her; though lying there unconscious with tubes in her mouth ( now attached to a quiet respirator) hooked up to monitors and IVs, she may not look so much like their friend. I see the fear in their eyes, the hesitation. Then one moves forward and whispers in her ear, one holds her feet, offering energy. I have a moment to stroke her hair and cheek. Her eyes remain closed. It feels surreal. The critical care team arrives. She will be taken by ambulance to meet a plane , then on to a more major center where she can receive more intensive, specialized care.

I was then free to return to my own place of work, grateful that my work partner had done a good job of picking up the slack in my absence. Soon I would be home; another day behind me. Memories would flash back. For me it wasn't so much the thought that this could happen to me I could be the one falling down in my garden. Its not "get out while you are still healthy"It is really considering the circumstances we need to absorb
and process, all the time. How do we accommodate these events within ouselves. We carry on. It has always been amazing to me to be with someone as they pass from this world; to comfort their family , and know I will likely be caring for a new client in that same bed later that same day. That the world just carries on and we need to find our own ways to honor these precious moments. I find my solitary time at home ..... and I walk .... outside alone.

That day had been a good one on the ward. Many days are much more hectic, sometimes working understaffed , sometimes moving from one crisis to the next, struggling to keep up. Those are days I wonder if I have done a good enough job and I think " how much longer can I do this " I have been at it for a long time. From this job I sport a 25 year pin.
I know that tools wear out , but what of hearts and souls. These can't be replaced. In my soul I carry my strength, my knowledge of how important it is to be there and that I can do it. In my heart I carry compassion, but my heart feels a little worn. a little strained. Sometimes I am so very tired, on many levels. Others may not understand, but I think it is time to look at making my exit. Radha

A Simple Reflection

Birds have always fascinated me To see them brings me great joy, and in so doing connects me to spirit. Nothing exists in that moment but focused attention and a great welling up of emotion ( excitement, joy, connection ) in my heart. I always feel priviledged to be allowed to see them ... to have a glimpse into a piece of their world. I say thankyou before I move on. This piece of writing describes one actual and amazing encounter


Making our way through the woods on snowshoe, a small body of still water becomes visible through the trees. On the far bank a dipper is bobbing and pecking. I am spellbound, watching. The line where shore and water meet is so exact, as if drawn. It divides two worlds, the real and the reflected; the water a perfect mirror. Another bird moves in exact unison. Like dancers or skaters, their actions are choreographed, beak touching beak, then separating. I watch them both for quite some time.
A moment of inattention and she is lost from view, so well does her color match that of the rocks. But I find her in the reflected world. She would not have been visible but for the reflecton she cast.
As she steps into the water the images somehow merge; this new line between them less defined. Then, further merging in a dive, they both dissapear, the spell broken. Radha

Winter Poem

Winter poem with notes from January 2007

The photo is more recent of the same river farther up the valley where another stream enters

first thoughts: reflecting on how, in the freshness of your absence, walking where we so often walk, I looked at the river and thought of our lives ..... how they move on like the river

the poem ; The River Flows on

The river flows on

I walk its boundary

Boots crunch on the trail

Made firm by frequent users

Though I meeet no other soul

And am blessed by the sun

The river flows on

Dispite its frozen edges

Rocks in its midst frosted with snow

Long crystals sparkling

Snow sculptures perch on pilons

Air chilled and silent

The river flows on

Where often we've walked

Now alone , watching the ice floes

Rushing and shining, silver in the sun

Life flows on as the river

Hearts stretch to touch across miles

The river flows on

Two streams either side of a sandbar

Each solo, then merging

Ever onward, one current

As threads in a tapestry

All part of the whole

Radha

Too many pockets?

In response to a friend's inquiry about my well being, I try to explain how overwhelmed I feel. I find myself saying "my life has too many compartments." It is like a coat with too many pockets. There are those pockets which are stuffed and overflowing, constantly requiring attention and those completely neglected; ones you feel guilty about for not having reviewed their contents, and ones you long to dive into and hide. There are quite a few you didn't know were part of the coat at the outset. Who could have known ; a simple twist and you have another pocket to attend to. I think " if only I could be more organized" but wouldn't that just be more pockets within pockets all lined up in pretty rows? What of those deep and cozy pockets you can thrust your hands into as you inhale slowly the natural world and exhale into true bliss ? There are never enough of those, amongst the torn and frayed edged pockets and ones not yet completely sewn on. Always there is at least one hidden pocket, deep and dark, where you never venture; pockets you pretend are not part of the coat.
My spinning head attaches to a new idea, a revelation; maybe, just maybe, this coat needs some alterations, some attention from a tailor with a needle and thread and even (a radical thought ) a pair of scissors.
This coat has so much value and beauty. There must be a thread that connects all these pockets. I reflect and hope that this thread starts in the breast pocket and returns to it. Perhaps it has gotten too slack in some places, too tight in others. I believe I need to pay attention to this thread; to kindly examine it and offer it some tender loving care. Then maybe this coat won't feel so heavy, and will fit me better.

Patience

Well to be sure rubber boots may not seem to be related to patience. I do find that most aspects of my life do relate to patience in one way or another. Just minutes ago I created my "writers blog" In my excitement of entering this new venture I didn't take time to investigate how to add a photo before pressing the publish button ................ so here is my photo on a new post ............ a lesson learned in blog management and yet again in patience. The photo belongs with the entry of earlier today on puddle walks , garden seeds etc...

Spring Thoughts on a Puddle Walk

written March 5th before more snow and cold temps

Its a sure sign of spring when Mia, my cat, ventures outdoors. She makes her way through collapsing snow and finds all the passageways under trees, along house and shed where snow has pulled back revealing the dirt of the mother earth
Its time to pull out the rubber boots and go for puddle walks with my granddaughter. Her boots are red, mine are turquoise with pink flowers, a gift from my beloved. Rainjackets and woolies replace winter jackets and, free as the fresh air, we don't miss a single puddle.
Spring feels early to me.Its all very subjective. Some love to watch the snow melt away with the rain, the lanes turn to mud and grass appear. I feel cheated of the end of winter and secretly wish for one more beautiful clean snowfall, another chance to test my skills with the tractor/snowblower and see the land covered in soft white. I join the skiers in hoping the rain is snow in the mountains. Not just for recreation, I think this one step further. As we have had lalmost no snow since early January, the snow pack is very low. I know this means less runoff and the possibility of water shortages come summer.
Spring will come whenever and however, I also know. Although I have attended with joy, the local seed exchange event, gathering local and heritage seeds in the hope to switch over and do better with the vegie garden, I am not quite ready.
Perhaps I am one who has some trouble with these major transitions. It seems it is difficult for me to let go of present conditions and move forward into future ones. Slowly I will say goodbye to the snow and the quiet activities that I never quite catch up with, and prepare for the glory of springtime and the wonderful work of gardening