REASSURANCE!

A few summers ago we swam across the lake to jump off the rocks.  One, two, three, and off jumped my first friend.  One, two, three, and off jumped my other friend.  One, two, three…four, fourteen, forty, four hundred and I was still there, standing at the top looking out over the lake and the rocks below. 

One, two, three…and step…back. One, two, three…and step…back again.  It was like there was a physical wall stopping me from jumping, holding me back.  I couldn’t see it but I’m telling you, it was there! 

I felt like I was in a cartoon or a sci-fi movie; fear was real and it was impenetrable.  My friends encouraged me again and again then finally had to give up.  After treading for fifteen minutes they swam back to our dock figuring I was never going to do this.

I, however am a Capricorn and was determined to jump: to move through this barrier and be free!  I changed my stance, thinking it would be better to take off on my left foot.  Try.  Try.  Nope.  I kept thinking how I could master this. Surely there was a logical way.  Try.  Try. Nope.

And then a neighbour came by.  No words: just a friendly, soft smile, and over he went. I can’t tell you what happened, but there was a purity in that moment that opened something up… and I jumped. There was nothing logical about it.  I jumped and it was beautiful.

True magic happened up on that rock and it changed me - allowed me to walk right through the wall. No, allowed me to let go of the need to have a wall!

Was it a kind, gentle soul?

A soft, summer breeze?

A lightness of spirit that instantly recognized itself and took to the air?

Wow, the power of pure love.  We can do anything in its presence, its wonder, its magnificence!

The next year I went back and tried to jump again thinking I’d learned my lesson about softness, about opening my heart and letting go of anxiety.  This time, it only took fifteen minutes instead of thirty to fully surrender.  I was jumping from a new place, one a little higher, and had to adjust.  I didn’t sense a stone wall around me this time but the extra height was challenging my comfort zone. When I acclimatized and saw some others jump, I centred myself, went to my inner soft-spot, and leapt.

There was a line in The Shawshank Redemption - Get busy living, or get busy dying – and walking right into something that scared me was a bold act of choosing aliveness. 

For a while, that was what I thought the lesson was about – confidently standing up to limiting beliefs and choosing aliveness.  But recently I was sitting on the dock with a different friend and reminiscing about the personal victory.

I saw a slim smile of recognition on his face but sensed it was about something different.  The story for him wasn’t just about the courage to walk in to what scares you, he was more appreciative of the quiet guy whose softness was so huge, so powerful, it melted my fear and inspired me to take the leap. What an incredible gift the neighbour offered.  His humility, his gentleness, and his relaxed casualness tickled a part of me that had been long awaiting this simple gesture of reassurance. I’ll never forget it. 

All Is well.

Love Is here.

As a grandparent, it’s not unusual to offer encouragement and assurance along the way to grandchildren.  I’ve become used to being the first one in the water, down a slide or on a ride.  But sometimes adults need reassurance too. ‘Jumping In” can take many forms, and leading the way smiling peacefully is a gesture that can change the world and the way we see ourselves in it.  No need to fight fear, no need to fight despair.

With hand on heart, the tenderness within can lead the way.

Marci's Canada 150 Challenge

My husband, Alan, was listening to CBC radio this winter and heard a woman being interviewed about the Canadian day she’d had. She and a friend were headed out to snowshoe, stopped at Tim Horton’s, and then were pulled over for speeding by an RCMP officer.  ‘How Canadian’ they thought and then wondered if they could come up with 150 things "Canadian" in this sesquicentennial year.

Alan loved the idea, and as a history major, picked it up and has been having great fun re-discovering and uncovering many fascinating stories. Adding a twist to the challenge, he decided he had to somehow work himself in by being photographed with some aspect of the story, such as tossing a garbage bag at the dump (yes, garbage bags were a Canadian invention), dressing in furs for a piece on the importance of the fur trade, or sitting on the bench beside the sculpture of Glenn Gould. There are over sixty-five stories on his Facebook page so far and some of ALAN'S CANADA 150 CHALLENGE posts are being published in the local paper.
As a philosopher and explorer of the human spirit, I had different musings about what it is to be Canadian.  Almost immediately my mind went to a writing circle I had participated in in Toronto.  We did an exercise to evoke childhood memories, tapping into feelings of innocence, and later read them aloud.  I wrote about pigtails and giggles and swinging so high I became part of the sky.  Innocence had such an earthy spaciousness for me and pulsed with an insatiable hunger for story and connection.

Another member of the circle, a tall German woman, recognized the bubbliness of which I wrote and asked to read next.  As she began her story though, you could sense a change. The joy behind her smile suddenly plummeted and her voice began to quaver. 

She grew up in the 1940’s with pedigree and elegance and was doted on by parents and servants alike.  It was a sweet life.  Her family had owned a factory and she would often skip across town and visit her father there.  But as the Second World War ended, her privileged world came crashing down and her family, fortune and sense of wonder fell into ruins.  She was just a little girl.  It wasn’t fair.  So much was taken away.

As I listened to this beautiful portrayal of ‘innocence lost’ unwind, my body began to shudder.  I kept listening to her heartfelt story but other feelings percolated as well.  Soon gut-wrenching turmoil put my body in shock, and I couldn’t move. 

Was the bomb that killed my grandfather’s sister and mother while they were praying in synagogue from that same munitions factory where this woman had eaten candy and sipped tea?  What do I do with this? 

What do I do?

So many thoughts blew in, catching me, pushing me, lashing me.

That was seventy years ago; that was an ocean away.

That was the family my grandfather failed to rescue and despaired about till the day he died.

I reminded myself.

I reminded myself to return to the present moment and let the purity of her experience resonate.

I reminded myself how tender every child’s heart is, and how devastating it is when it begins to shrivel.

I reminded myself…of my humanity.

To me this is what it is to be Canadian: to be part of this beautiful mosaic. Here, we aren’t asked to conform but instead, as a culture, ask of ourselves to remember our humanity.  We work hard, we explore the vast unknown, and we cherish the power in each one of our stories. And although we too have villains and obstacles in our story - our history, isn’t it beautiful to know the thread that weaves through it, binding it, quilting it, is one of respect and appreciation.

Bygones are bygones and if we can soften into the present moment with kindness and appreciation there will be much, much more to celebrate together in the many years to come.

Happy Summer, everyone!