The Bubble Has Burst

I’m back from camping for four glorious days at the Hillside Music Festival with my family. We were part of the 1,400 volunteers, musicians, artisans and food-makers who helped to create the magic for the three day festival on a small island in the middle of a lake.

Hillside is really like living in a bubble – a bubble filled with music, singers and poets. It’s filled with drummers and dancers, parades and gatherings, art and artisans, beauty-makers and joy-creators. Tantalizing aromas fill the air with sizzling sausages, spicy tacos and curry fries. Colours and textures infuse the eyes with tie-dyed fabrics, twisted metals and gems, and carved wood pieces. Workshops offer new experiences of living and loving, moving and creating. The Children’s Zone is full of bubbles and paint, sand and water, music, crafts and laughter. The smoke from the Sacred Fire rises to the skies all weekend long, circling around the poles of the tipi in the Indigenous Circle.

Volunteers get to stay on the island where we create Volly Village with tents and trailers, banners and pennants. In the village are old friends and new friends, stories and gatherings, love and sharing. After hours, campfires burn and spontaneous musical jams and drumming fill the nighttime hours until the sun rises and a new day begins.

Yes, Hillside Music Festival is a delicious escape from reality. Now the bubble has burst and we all have returned to our homes. The secret lies in keeping the memories and magic alive in our own little worlds with photos and mementos, shared stories and friendships. It truly was a Happy Hillside and I am looking forward to next year.

Cracked Open

December 11, 2018, was the anniversary of Tom, my beloved husband’s death. Eight years ago, he passed away into another world. Facebook, my main social media site, has a feature that takes you back on your timeline with each passing day. You are able to see what you did and said on December 11 from 2008, 2009, and so on. I was able to trace my life for the weeks and days preceding Tom’s death. I could see all the things that were happening and my comments on them, and I couldn’t help but think over and over again, If I only knew that one week later, three days later, Tom would be dead. It put a very different perspective on life for me. We just never know, do we, what life will bring. It reminded me even more to live each day fully, with zest. This is the main theme of my book, our story, in 10 – A Story of Love, Life, and Loss that I published after Tom’s death. His death and the grief over the subsequent years has taught me much about living a full life.

Grief has softened me. Not at first. First I felt raw and torn, laid open like a jagged wound. But with time that has healed and in the opening of that wound, deep in my gut, I have come to recognize a soft, vulnerable place. And I mean I physically feel it that way. There used to be a hole, a place where the pain of losing Tom and never having him in my life again sat like a dark cavern. It has been replaced. Now there is a fullness filling that empty hole, a soft spot, almost like the yolk inside an egg. It sits in the same place, never forgetting, but always accepting. Tom’s death took away a piece of my soul, but left behind a soft, accepting centre of love and gratitude. It may be delicate, but it’s not weak. In its softness is strength, courage, empathy. It’s pliable, secure, and forgiving.

Reading Mark Nepo’s , The Book of Awakening, I came across this passage. He seems to know about that soft spot within that comes after deep pain. He writes:

“It leads me to say that if you are unhappy or in pain, nothing will remove those surfaces. But acceptance and a strong heart will crack them like a shell, exposing a soft thing waiting to take form. It glows. I think it is the one spirit we all share.”

Grief has cracked me open, and because I was able to look and experience it full in the face, it has left behind a soft jewel in the centre of my soul.

Tradition

“Because of our traditions, we have kept our balance for many, many years.”

~ Teyve – Fiddler on the Roof

This weekend some of my Christmas traditions kicked in, helping to ignite my Christmas spirit.

I attended the Toonie Turkey Supper at St. John’s Anglican Church, Orangeville, where friends from the past gathered to enjoy a delicious turkey dinner with all the trimmings — a night meant to celebrate community and promote fellowship.

That same night, my family went downtown to celebrate the seasonal Tractor Parade of Lights. It was fun to be so close to the roaring tractors and big farm machinery and rigs all lit up with twinkling, colourful lights.

The next morning, we took the grandchildren to the annual Candy Cane Fair at the local hospital. For $2, the grandchildren were escorted away by an elf to choose and wrap a small gift for their mom, dad, grandma, or grandpa. This event is meant to help children get into the spirit of gift-giving during the holiday season and raise some funds for hospital equipment. Santa was there with Mrs. Claus for picture taking and there were craft tables and raffle tickets.

We went home again but only for a short while before we headed downtown again for the annual Santa Claus Parade with its colourful floats, marching bands and community participation.

Traditions are important. They give us a sense of belonging and add a secure rhythm to the seasons. They bring family and community together to enrich our lives and create memories. Through traditions, we reconnect with each other, find balance in our lives, and a little bit of magic.

What are some of your traditions?

Flying Lesson #1

Flying Lesson #1                                                                                Barbara Heagy

Come fly with me.

Oh, I don’t think so.                                                                                                                                                                                      

            I can’t do that.

Yes, you can.

Just step close to the edge

And let go.

No. I’m not made for flying.

            I’m heavy, clumsy, aerodynamically unsound.

            Birds are made for flying,

            Not me.

It’s all in the attitude.

If you feel light and free,

You will be light and free.

Come. Let go.

No. It’s not natural.

            I am not a flier.

            Supernatural powers would

            Have to be involved here.

We are all fliers

If we let ourselves be.

We are all meant to soar

High above the limitations

We set on ourselves.

But I’m scared.

            I would be alone.

            What if I begin to fall?

Trust me.

You are a flier.

You are meant to fly.

It will be as natural

And effortless and easy

As it is for a bird that steps out on a branch

and casts its body into the breeze.

But you have to believe,

And you have to stretch out your wings.

Gather up your courage

And jump.

You will not be alone.

The wind and the air will be your companions.

Well, if I’m meant to fly

            Let me not be

            As loose things

            Tossed about at the whim of the wind.

            Dust and leaves and dandelion seeds

            Are not for me.

            I want to be as sure as

            The goose in its yearly migration

            About its destination.

No,

There are no guarantees.

But I can promise you this;

The world of flight

Will be full

Of wonder and surprises.

You will find freedom

And new strength

As you glide

And soar and swoop

Over unknown worlds.

And you will be

More than you ever dreamed you could be.

You sound so sure of yourself.

I am.

You make it sound so easy.

It is.

Now, are you ready?

Let’s F L Y . . . . . .

Writing for Healing – A Response Poem to Rumi

Back in June, I attended a writing workshop with Kat McNichol called “Writing for Healing” in Eden Mills. As one of the quick writing prompts, I wrote a poem Not Me.  It was written in response to the poet Rumi’s poem Not Here.

When the poem was introduced to us by Kat, I had such a negative internal response that I decided I should just deal with it in a written response. The result, created in five minutes, showed me the level of anger and weariness I had in dealing with the grief of my deceased husband and love of my life.

Kat asked if she could publish the poem in her online newsletter. Check out the poems (Rumi’s original and mine) and other stories by clicking on the link below.
https://www.dreamerswriting.com/stories-poems/barbara-heagy/

And by the way — if you have a chance to take a workshop with Kat McNichol, do it! She’s a fabulous teacher. There is another ‘Writing for Healing’ workshop coming up in October. Check for details at  www.dreamerswriting.com.

A Response Poem to Rumi’s Not Here

Not Me by Barbara Heagy

Oh, Rumi.
I do not want to hear this right now.
Don’t speak to me about bravery and sharp
compassion.
I have had howling hurt
And it sucks.

I have stood strong and full of courage.
“Turn and face the lions,” I said.
But the lions’ roaring pains my eardrums.
Their carnivorous breath makes me faint.
Their overpowering size tires me
As I pace the cage with them.

Copper and gold are not for me.
I have accumulated a treasure house of
such so-called riches.
Give me sun.
Give me breath.
God, give me pastrami.
Anything but more of your precious metals.

I am not half-hearted.
I am empty-hearted
Facing your sizzling ovens that shape the soul.

Empty-hearted, holding back,
I am now just well-enough and getting by.

Your challenge has depleted me,
Frozen my thoughts into debilitating ideas of
“I can do this.
This will be good for me.”

Well F’ you, Rumi.
I walk away from this challenge.
I’ve given at the office, thank you.

                                        

I Am From

As an introduction to each other at our recent Rhythmwood Soul Journey, Wendy Roman asked us to write a poem about ourselves from a basic form called “I Am From . . . “. All we had to do was fill in the blanks as we reminisced about our past and contemplated all the people and events that had formed who we are today. Here is my poem. What would your poem be?

I Am From by Barbara Heagy

I am from country farms,
From czardas and paprikash.

I am from grandma’s warm lap
like sheltering laughter.

I am from lilacs, fresh mown hay,
and bubbling creeks.

I am from hippies and hash,
From cool northern lakes and jumping fish.

I am from journals and contemplations,
From words and books and songs.

I am from breath and moving bodies.

I am from spiritual journeys danced in prayers,
laced with pain and grace.

I am from daughters to grandsons.

I am from love –
assured and unconditional.

I Have No Words – A Journey of the Soul

This past week I went on a retreat called Rhythmwood Soul Journey, led by Wendy Roman of Rhythmwood Dance Studio. For eight weeks before our retreat where we met in person, we had online assignments using poetry, journal writing, conscious dance and shared online conferences to introduce us to each other and prepare us with some basic movement principles and ideas for contemplation and discussion.

In the studio, Wendy used daily readings, journal writing, conscious dance, meditation, nature experiences and art to take us on a further soul journey of the feminine spirit.

On the last day of our wonderful week, I sat quietly and thought about how I would explain the past week to my friends and family. It was such a deep and meaningful experience that I truly had no words. But I put my pen to paper, and let the words just flow. This poem is what came out.

I HAVE NO WORDS

I have no words.

How do you explain this feeling of wholeness, connectedness, fulfilment to another?

How do you explain a journey of the soul where I, you, us, become equally important and valuable to the woven web?

How do you explain a creation of the spirit that fills and overflows through me, to you, to earth, to sky, to water, to fire and beyond?

How do you speak of the gentle care, the kindness, the deep felt gratitude for who I am, and who I become with you, and you, and you?

How do I explain the fire within, the fire without, the consuming fire that refines and invites you to new beginnings?

How do I explain the magic of dancing with another, where the flow between us becomes liquid energy that uplifts, intertwines, and releases the ‘me’ to become the ‘us’?

How do I explain the wonder of waves rushing to shore, the birds rising through song, the sky on fire, our very souls on fire?

How do I explain the specialness, the uniqueness of another? Through vulnerability and laughter and tears, and strength and weakness, through words and song and dance and art, a new creation was born.

How do I explain all this?

There are no words.

Wendy Roman is a gifted teacher and I would recommend taking a workshop or retreat with her in the future. Check out her website at www.rhythmwood.ca

A Balancing Act

 

Have you ever watched someone actually creating those wonderful balanced rock structures? You know the ones where they take a small stone and magically, or so it seems, balance another bigger rock on top of it, and then another, and another, until they hold together in one big delicate balance. They amaze me. I’ve tried it myself to no avail. I can’t even get two stones to balance, nevertheless, three, four or more.

This morning, catching up on my morning Facebook, I came across a friend’s posting of one of these incredible rock artists. I learned something watching the video, something I had never noticed before.

I’ve always thought that the structure was built one stone at a time, fully balancing the first one before the second, and then the third was added. But I noticed that the artist didn’t build them one at a time, fully balancing one before he balanced the others. He worked with the group, holding them together with his hands, as he built. If he let go too soon, before the final stone was put in place, the whole structure would fall. If he kept the group together long enough by holding them all with his hands, the final stone was often the one that put enough pressure on them all to hold the whole structure together. Each stone didn’t stand alone.  Each one was necessary and stood on the shoulders of the one above it simultaneously. The stones worked together, at the same time, to find that precarious balance.

That in itself can be a lesson in life. We think we have to move step-by-step, fully balancing one factor in our lives before we move on to the next when, in reality, we need to include all the elements, holding them together long enough until we can put the final factor in place to bring it all together as a balanced whole.

When we feel that we have to fully achieve one thing before we can move on to the next, this separation of the elements can hurt us. It leads to perfectionism which tends to stifle us, sometimes stopping us in our tracks in our intended progress. If we can’t even get one thing fully working in our lives, we feel we are not ready to move on to the next area of expertise and drop it all together. We give up and refuse to take the challenge. We never feel ready or capable or good enough. It can lead to poor self-esteem.

In reality, we often are balancing many components, multi-tasking, learning as we go, pulling the elements together in a jumble of ideas, until the final conclusion hits us full in the face. Or doesn’t. Sometimes we pull it off but the final structure is held in precarious balance, ready to fall at the slightest outside force. But so what? At least by trying to build something, refusing to give up, believing that more than one factor is at work in our lives at a time, we learn from our mistakes, and continue to move forward.

Years ago, I studied modern dance while getting my first undergraduate degree. After four years of study, I left and went travelling. When I got back, I went and visited my former professor of dance. She told me about a local recreation department that was looking for a teacher to lead a creative movement class for children. I told my teacher there was no way I felt ready to teach anybody about dance. What did I know? She assured me I did know enough, so I gathered up my courage and applied for the job. It was the beginning of a career in dance for me, both teaching and performing.

While at the same university, I met a woman in my dance class who was really just starting out in dance. She had been brought up in a very strict religious family, where dancing was not allowed. She couldn’t even skip properly at the first class. That didn’t stop her from teaching her Inter-Varsity social group everything she learned. Day by day, she learned something, and day-by-day, she took what she learned and taught it to others. Her confidence in herself amazed me. She didn’t feel she had to be fully accomplished to offer her skills to others. She was of the Maya Angelou philosophy, “When you learn, teach. When you get, give.”

The world is a busy, multi-factored, jumble of ideas and experiences. Don’t be afraid to pick up many of them and fearlessly start building your life. It’s all a balance. Make yours beautiful.

 

 

The Power of Telling Our Stories

Last night I attended the ‘Evening of Sharing – The Power of Telling Our Stories’ organized by Lisa Browning, One Thousand Trees Publications. The three speakers inspired me deeply with their unique life stories. They went beyond themselves and shared generously details of their lives from dealing with the death of a loved one, to writing our own stories instead of living through others, and mental illness and depression.
 
Margaret-Ann Brix shared her children’s story “Grampa’s Butterfly”, Melinda Burns, psychotherapist/writer/poet shared the importance of finding our true selves through writing and journaling, and Clay Williams spoke of his inspirational long distance runs for charity, specifically depression and mood disorders.
 
I bought Margaret’s book to share with my grandchildren and found her story to be a delightful metaphor on life and death.
 
Melinda began with a short meditation that focused and centered us. Her lesson was about mindfulness, being our true selves in the present moment. We can learn about ourselves by writing down our thoughts and feelings. She spoke of the difference between thinking, writing, and telling our stories. Writing is that safe space between thinking and telling, where we can record our thoughts and feelings in a safe space with no judgement from others.
 
Clay encouraged us to sign the Canadian flag that he carries with him when he runs in remembrance of someone we know who suffers with mental illness. “I would be honoured to run in their name,” he said. My signature joined hundreds of others to uplift those in my life that I care and pray for.
 
Thank you to all three speakers and to Lisa for organizing this special evening. Lisa holds “Evenings of Sharing” every month, each on a different theme. You can check them out at her website www.onethousandtrees.com.

Stormy Weather

I left my home yesterday at 4 p.m. in a torrential downpour, but it stopped and the sky turned blue again, so I continued on to my dinner party two hours away. Whew!!!! It was one of the craziest drives I have ever done. The wind was wild, whipping in gusts that could do serious damage. Four times I had to pull over and stop for screaming sirens from service vehicles passing. In the middle of it all, I thought “Why am I out here? I’m only going to a dinner party.” But, I persevered.

I saw whole huge 30 foot trees snapped in half and power lines leaning in downtown areas, road signs were spinning on their poles, 4 X 4 signs were ripped out of the ground, trees and branches were coming down the whole way, hydro lines were snapping, jumping, and twirling in the wind. I saw a car with its windshield smashed out from a flying tree and thick dust storms roaring across fields.

By the time I made it to my friend’s home in the country, I thought all was good. Their road was the worst. I had to drive around fallen branches and then, just before their driveway, a whole tree lay across the road and blocked my path. A fallen hydro wire was laying parallel to the road and I only saw it because I turned around and then noticed it. I did get to their home but had to go around a country block to get there.

By the time I left at 9 p.m. things had settled down but there were still fallen trees and power blackouts in several areas for the half-hour drive to my daughter’s where I stayed for the night. Crazy!!

I got through it. How? I kept both hands on the wheel, stayed alert to my surroundings, kept a calculated pace, slowing when I needed to, quickening up when it seemed necessary, and I kept to the main and less treeless roads and highways. Lots of luck and a good dose of prayer got me safely to my destination.

It was kind of like navigating the storms of life. We all will face them. All we can do is stay calm, keep thinking, face each moment as it comes and, for the things we can’t control, pray. I wish you well on the storms of your journey. Stay strong.